Clash of a Hundred Demons
by ShadowMajin
Summary: AU. Sequel to The Eighth Sin. The Bat is broken. Gotham's streets are painted with blood as Bane makes his declaration of war. Without the help of the GCPD, Gotham's remaining vigilantes have one choice left: unite or fall. Part 2 of 3.
1. Six Weeks Ago

Hello folks! ShadowMajin here with my and Anonymous Void's next story in our Batman series. When we first came up with this story, the main operative word we had for it was clusterfuck and it sure proved itself during our drafting and writing. Strap yourselves in for you're in for a long, bumpy ride as AV and I present to you Part II.

Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Phones rang in the background, a constant, random drone. It was almost comforting to be honest.

Usually for Bullock, it was another call that meant he had to get busy. He had to do his job. While he liked his job, loved busting punks for doing stupid, highly illegal shit, he just didn't have it in him. It was unusual, but he felt lifeless, energy-less. He felt like crap.

The phone on his desk rang, but Bullock didn't pick it up. He stared at it as it rang and rang until it stopped.

That's how it had been for most of the day. There was paperwork to be done, but it was piling up. Usually it was annoying, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

There was movement, someone walking up to his desk. A styrofoam cup was placed on the edge of his desk, causing the police lieutenant to look at it. The smell of coffee wafted up to his nose.

"You doing okay, Harvey?" Montoya asked him. His old rookie had her own cup and was using one of those small coffee straws to stir her drink. She looked as tired and disheveled as he did, though she was doing a better job at being productive than he was.

"I'm about the same as I was when you last asked me that," Bullock grunted to her.

"So feeling like shit?"

"Bingo."

Montoya shook her head, a small smile on her face. That was probably the first one Bullock had seen on her face in weeks. Then again, it still felt like only last night that everything had gone to hell in a hand basket. Scratch that, make it a Greyhound bus instead of a hand basket. The tickets had been punched and Gotham had been loaded up against her will and that was that.

That was why the phones were ringing like they were. Everyone was calling for the police. It didn't used to be like this, not even when the Mob ran the city into the ground. Now though, everything was becoming unhinged. Criminals were running the streets. These weren't gangsters, mind you, that had some semblance of a code, or honor, or whatever they thought of themselves; these were gangs and robbers and rapists. The good guys were doing their best, but it seemed like these guys were crawling out of the woodwork now, taking over everything.

It was too much.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Montoya asked him then, breaking the silence they had fallen into.

"Find me a DeLorean and go back six weeks," Bullock replied. Huh, had it been that long? It felt longer sometimes and other times it was just like yesterday.

" _Gotham City!"_

 _The voice bellowed out into the night, causing Bullock to whip around, a hand at his gun holster, ready to draw his weapon. It had been a crazy night already, what with all these plants and trees and other green shit sprouting out of every crevice in the city._

 _Looking up, he saw a rather large man, face covered in some sort of mask. It was hard to make out what else about him since he was so high up, except he had both of his arms_ — _his enormous freaking arms_ — _above his head, and held something that looked like a person._

" _Who is that?" Montoya asked next to him, the rook with own gun drawn. She had had it out ever since they got out of their squad car, not that he blamed her. You could never be too careful on the streets._

" _I am Bane!" the man declared. "And this city is mine!_

" _Your Batman is no more. I have destroyed him._ I _rule these streets now. I rule_ Gotham _! Here is your hero; your protector. Take him and_ bury _him!"_

 _Then this Bane guy threw the person he held. The man fell down to the street, his body hitting the edge of a building and bouncing off of it. Next he landed on a yawning, bouncing off of that too and fell further down to the next one. That one caught the man's body, but the force in which he hit it caused it to rip._

 _A moment later and the Batman's body landed on the sidewalk, not too far away from where Bullock was standing. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head at the sight of the vigilante, his body looking like a broken toy, all cut up and bruised and bleeding._

 _It took him a couple of seconds to process this before he kicked into gear. Running the short distance between him and the Bat, he slowed to a stop as he started seeing more and more wounds and injuries. One of Bullock's hands found its way to his forehead before sliding up into his hair. "Oh man," he groaned softly._

 _Montoya was kneeling next to Batman's side then. "All units, I need an ambulance at 3rd and Manchester. Get one here as fast as you can."_

 _Slowly, a crowd began to gather around them. When and how they got there, Bullock wasn't sure. "Is that…?" someone whispered from behind him._

" _I think it is."_

" _Look at him; is he dead?"_

" _Anyone want to see what's under his mask?"_

 _Like a bolt of lightning, Bullock leapt into action. "Alright, everyone needs to back off," he ordered as he began walking back and forth from one side of the sidewalk to the other. "Give the man some air, alright?"_

" _Or what?" a rather large guy demanded, a wife-beater showing off the muscles of his chest and arms. He looked like he had just left the gym. "You gonna arrest us, or something?" he challenged._

" _No, I'm gonna shoot you and then arrest you for interfering with a police investigation," Bullock snapped, pulling out his gun. He kept it pointed at the ground, but he could've had it pointed at any of these schmoes' faces in a second. "Now back it up so that ambulance can get through."_

 _Any courage the crowd had, it was definitely gone now. Thankfully, that was when the siren of an ambulance was heard, growing louder with every passing second. Tilting his head to a side, Bullock was grateful at the sight of the EMS truck, a horn honking as it drove up to the scene._

 _The crowd dispersed and soon the ambulance had its back several feet away from the Bat and his police guard. The back doors open and two people jumped out, a young man with his hair in a ponytail and what looked like a teenage girl with an EMT hat on pulling out a gurney. At the sight of them, Bullock frowned._

" _Aren't you a little young to be EMS?" he asked once the two approached him, rolling gurney right up to Batman._

" _She's brand new, Sir," the young man answered him, working on lowering the gurney so that it was lower to the ground. All the while, the rookie EMT had moved next to the Bat, pausing for a second before pulling out some sort of neck brace._

" _Can you help me put this on?" she asked Montoya, who immediately had her hands on either side of Batman's head. She carefully raised the man's head and the EMT slid the back of the brace beneath him. Once they had his neck comfortably in the brace, they both wrapped it around and tightened it._

" _Alright, we're gonna need both of you to help get him on the stretcher," the male EMT said. Holstering his side arm, Bullock moved next to Montoya while the two EMTs kneeled on the other side. Three of them got their hands beneath the vigilante while Montoya did her best to help keep Batman's head straight. Altogether, they lifted him up and got him on the gurney._

 _Then in a flash, the two EMTs were strapping the dark-clad man down. The entire time, Bullock couldn't help but notice the Bat didn't make so much as a noise. No grunt, no cry of pain, nothing. He was only sure the man wasn't dead because he could see his chest was slowly rising and falling, shallow breaths to be sure, but it was enough._

" _We'll take it from here," the male EMT said as he began raising up the gurney. The two EMTs then rolled the stretcher back to the truck, where Bullock noticed a third kneeling in the back. It looked like a blonde girl, young too if Bullock wasn't mistaken._

 _Both Bullock and Montoya stood as they watched Batman be loaded up into the ambulance, the truck's doors slammed shut and then the ambulance raced off down the street._

" _He's going to be okay, right?" Montoya asked after awhile, the two cops never once looking away even as the taillights of the ambulance grew smaller and smaller._

 _Bullock didn't answer her. To be honest, the guy looked like death to him. Yeah, he knew all those stories about the Bat-freak being immortal and no one being able to kill him, but after all that, he looked like he was one step away from death._

 _But to answer his partner's question, he rather doubted he would ever see the Bat again._

That had been six weeks ago and it was still burned into his mind. It hadn't taken long for word to spread about about the Bat, how that Bane guy had beaten him and threw him broken into the streets. That had started this rising tide of crime among other things.

A door opened on one side of the bullpen, Gordon entering the room. No one paid him any mind, but it was no secret where he was coming form. That was the door for the stairs to go to the roof, where the Bat Signal had been turned on almost nightly. Not once had the Bat answered though, Bullock not the least bit surprised. And still, Jim went up there every night and turned it on in hopes he would.

That was dedication. Blind dedication, but dedication nonetheless.

It was no secret that Bullock viewed the Bat-freak with contempt. Just ask around the precinct and anyone could tell you what his exact thoughts were on the man. He was a menace, an insult to real police officers, a glory hound, and a number of other less than flattering and much more colorful names. Now though, he was not as nearly reluctant to admit just how much the city depended on him.

Then again, maybe he hadn't wanted to admit as much.

* * *

Nightwing had been tired before. It was part and parcel of being a nighttime vigilante. However, he had never felt this exhausted ever. It was seeping into his very bones, his muscles protesting every move he made.

Well, except for one.

Plopping down on the couch, Dick Grayson raised a hand up and removed his domino mask. He let out a sigh and sunk deeper into the couch cushion.

"That bad of a night?"

Through weary eyes, Dick glanced over to a doorway, where Barbara Gordon sat. She rolled towards him in her wheelchair, stopping next to the arm. "What gave it away?" he quipped back to her.

"I don't think I've ever seen you without your guard up," the redhead replied, her tone cool, calm, and collected. She was silently prodding him to open up, just without saying it. He knew she wanted him to talk, but he was too fatigued to do so. Still, she wasn't going to let him bum a seat on her couch, so he'd answer her...eventually.

"Well?"

Apparently, eventually was now.

"We're drowning," was all Dick said and it succinctly summed up what was going on.

Ever since Batman had been broken in two, Gotham had become a bloodbath. The creep that had done it—beaten the Batman—called himself Bane and he had carved a bloody path through the city, knocking off any and all competition to him. First it was the leftover mobsters, but then next were the gangs. Bane had brought in a personal army with him and they were a heck of a lot more coordinated, trained, and armed than any street thug. No one was standing a chance against him.

It was like he broke Gotham along with the Batman.

The Birds of Prey were doing whatever they could, but it was like putting a bandaid on a severed artery. Huntress was doing her own thing, but was having the same luck as the rest of them. The Batclan was having just as much success too—meaning none. Stephanie, Harper, and Jason were getting rundown between vigilantism and school. In fact, Dick had made it quite clear that they had to keep up their studies first and was forcing them off the streets to attend to their work. That didn't work too well with Jason since he had dropped out who knows when. At the very least, he spent his time at the dojo, training and beefing up his combat skills, such as they were.

Admittedly, Jason had progressed pretty quickly in the last few weeks. If Dick was honest, and he kinda had to be at the moment, Jason had surpassed Stephanie and Harper when it came to hand-to-hand combat. The girls were starting to lose with greater frequency in their spars, which thrilled Jason to no end. Even Dick was starting to have some trouble fighting him. It was a lone bright spot after everything that happened and was happening.

Except, it just wasn't enough. None of them were enough.

"We'll get through this," Barbara said soothingly, reaching a hand out to squeeze his shoulder. It was meant to be comforting.

It wasn't.

"I don't know how he did it," Dick said after awhile. "All this time, he never said a word; never complained. He just did his job and everything seemed to work out."

"You know there's more to it than that," the redhead argued.

"Is there? Tell me, what is it? What is it Batman did that we aren't?" the dark-haired man demanded, shooting a glare at his friend. "I have to know—we all do. We're losing this city...no, we've lost it. Bane came in and took over in one fail swoop. We can't stop it; none of us can."

"Which means we just have to keep trying," Barbara replied. "He wouldn't have given up. That's the one thing we can do that he did."

"And look where that got him."

Barbara was silent for a moment. "You know, that's unfair."

"Your point?" Dick sighed again. "Look, Babs, I know you're trying to cheer me up, but believe me, after what I've seen, what I saw that night, how can I not feel this way? You're up here, looking through security cameras and that gives you the whole 'bigger picture' outlook, but it doesn't let you see the smaller things. Like just how broken he was. I know, I was there."

That made a scowl appear on the redhead's face. "Now you're really being a jerk."

He leveled a serious look at her. "I was there."

 _The sound of the siren cut off after awhile, thanks to Jason. He was up front, driving the ambulance, constantly looking from the road to the rear-view mirror._

 _Dick still wasn't sure how the younger boy had done it, but he had managed to steal an ambulance. He even managed to disable the lojack so that the truck wouldn't be tracked, which was a blessing for them._

 _They had been mere blocks away when Oracle had told them to back off. She had spent God knows how long demanding that every vigilante in the city get to Gotham General, but then the abrupt change had stopped them all. "I think...I think we may need an ambulance…" she had said._

 _Looking in front of him, the young vigilante knew why. Laying on the gurney was an unconscious Batman and he looked as if he had been through hell and back. His armor was broken and ripped up, revealing slashed skin, blood, and bruising. Furthermore, hands on assessments had reveals a few broken ribs, swelling practically throughout his body, and...well, he wasn't sure what other injuries there were. He wasn't an expert or anything, but he knew when someone was hurt bad._

 _This was much worse than that._

" _You're supposed to put an IV in," Stephanie said, breaking through Nightwing's musings. She, Harper, and him were all in the back of the ambulance, dressed as EMTs. Their brief encounter with the GCPD hadn't given them away, so that was one miracle for them. Now though, they had Batman and no idea what they were supposed to do. Stephanie seemed pretty sure of herself about the IV though. "He needs an IV."_

" _And how am I supposed to do that?" Harper snapped back from beneath her EMT hat, glaring at the blonde girl. "I've never put in an IV and I don't know how. Unless you know how to, one isn't getting in."_

" _You can at least try," Stephanie retorted. "There's no harm in trying."_

" _And what if I hit an artery instead? I could make things worse."_

" _Both of you, stop," Dick demanded, shooting them both with a silencing glare. "None of us are qualified to do an IV, much less attempt one in a moving truck, so let's forget it. Right now we need to figure out our next move."_

" _Nightwing's right," Jason agreed from the front. "I don't have enough gas to just circle the city forever. We need to get him to a hospital."_

 _Dick immediately looked towards the front of the ambulance. "No hospitals. We might as well kill him if we take him there."_

" _Then where do we go?" Stephanie asked. "He needs help. Just look at him."_

" _We already know where we're going," he replied. "Huntress told us to take him to that clinic on the Eastside. That's where we're going."_

" _Uhh, no offense, but that part of town isn't a good idea either," Jason said. "You wanna talk about killing him? The Eastside is where a lot of the gangs are and they'd do anything to ice the Bat. And that clinic, who knows if it can save him? It probably only has rudimentary medical equipment at best and I'm pretty sure he's gonna need more than a bandaid."_

" _Just drive to the clinic, Jason," Dick ordered. "And when we get there, everyone have your masks on."_

" _Fine, whatever you say, fearless leader."_

 _Dick stared in Jason's direction, which gave him a perfect view of the approaching overpass up ahead through the windshield. It was an old one too since the road entered a tunnel rather than the wide open area that showed the columns holding up the bridges. Darkness flooded the ambulance as they rode through, light returning when they exited out of the tunnel._

 _The only warning the young man got that something was different was Harper exclaiming, "Holy shit!"_

 _Whipping his head around, Dick's eyes bulged out of their sockets. Kneeling right between him and Harper was Batgirl as if she had always been there. Considering the look on Harper's face was the same as his, the dark-haired man knew that wasn't always the case. Even Stephanie was bug-eyed at the sight of the dark-clad girl._

" _Who the hell is that?!" Jason shouted from the driver's seat._

 _Batgirl ignored them all, however. Her eyes were completely focused on Batman, the girl oblivious to everyone around her._

 _Faintly, Dick wondered how she had gotten in a moving ambulance without anyone knowing. He hadn't heard a door open or close; she hadn't been in the truck when they entered the tunnel so she had to have boarded while they were in it._

 _Batgirl raised a hand then, slowly reaching out to her fallen mentor. The hand hovered above him for a moment, not once touching him. Slowly, it began to tremble, shaking in midair, the fingers beginning to flex into her palm._

 _Suddenly, the dark-clad girl snatched her hand back, raising her other one up so that she began clawing at her mask with both hands. Without hesitation, she ripped off her mask, the young features of an Asian girl, grief-stricken, appeared in front of the Batclan._

 _As if Dick wasn't shocked enough. This...this was the girl from the dojo! She was Batgirl! A giant puzzle piece to a puzzle he hadn't known he had been putting together fell right into his lap. No wonder she had taken them on so easily. Her teacher...the Bat...holy…_

" _Up."_

 _It had been said softly, almost to the point where Dick wasn't sure he head heard it at all. All of his thoughts vanished in the blink of an eye as the unmasked Batgirl seemed to leaned towards Batman, again reaching out with a trembling hand. She placed it right on his chest, gently at first, but then her fingers began to dig in. "Up," she said with more force in a choked voice, her eyes glistening with tears._

 _And then they came pouring down her face, drops after drops of tears. "Up!" she screamed as her other hand shot out and she began pushing the Dark Knight's body over and over, rocking him back and forth. "Up! Up! Up!"_

 _That was when Harper threw her arms around the girl, embracing her and pulling her away from Batman. Batgirl's hands moved onto the blue-haired girl, "Up!" she cried, sobbing as more and more tears fell down her face even as Harper began to make soothing sounds at her._

" _Shhhhh, it's going to be okay," she cooed, all the while pulling the distraught girl away from Batman. "It's going to be okay; he's going to be fine. You can hang onto me, okay?"_

"Are you okay, Dick?"

The young man blinked his eyes, surprised to find a tear falling off the end of his nose and onto the carpeted floor. Somehow he had leaned forward and was staring at the floor, and he had no idea as to how he had gotten into that position. Looking up, he found Barbara staring at him with concern.

That poor girl. Harper held her the entire way to the clinic, if only to keep her from doing any more damage to Batman; though, it wasn't as if she could make anything worse.

How could they be any worse?

"Sorry, I just got lost in my own head," Dick apologized. "It's...it's…"

Barbara smiled at him, which stopped him from saying anymore. "It's alright. However, we need to come up with our next step. Obviously what we're doing isn't working, so it's time to do something different."

The young man raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"

Barbara shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know to be honest, but it's obvious we need to try. You're right, we're just trying to plug holes while a hundred new ones keep springing up with every passing day. We need help."

Yeah, as if they could do that. Not too many people that could actually help Gotham stopped by. They preferred safer places like Caracas or Tijuana. No, they had to do this in-house.

Actually, now that he thought about it…

"Babs, can you get me ahold of everyone?" Dick asked, a gleam in his eye. "I think I have an idea."

* * *

 _Leslie's heart stopped the moment she saw him._

 _As a small group of vigilantes rolled the gurney in, Leslie could feel her throat closing up, choking her. There he lay, Batman...Bruce...strapped down and in pain._

 _That was all the time she gave herself to linger. "What happened?" the doctor demanded as she marched up to the young men and women._

" _Not sure what the extent of his injuries are," the oldest male, Nightwing answered her. He wasn't in costume, only wearing his mask while dressed as an EMS worker. "I can confirm some broken ribs."_

 _Leslie eyed the neck brace as she walked next to the rolling stretcher. "Why does he have a brace on?"_

" _We thought it couldn't hurt. We wanted to make sure we weren't causing more damage."_

 _That wasn't a bad idea at all. At a glance, Leslie could pick out multiple lacerations throughout Bruce's body, and...yes, there were definitely broken bones, the ribs at a minimum if the odd curvature of the rib cage was any indication. She continued her assessment, running her hands over every inch of the young man even as she walked, discovering edema in the knees, arms, and legs, fresh bruises scattered throughout._

" _In here," Leslie indicated as they came up to an empty room. The vigilantes rolled the stretcher in, stopping it right next to a bed. Systematically, the doctor began to remove the armor piece by piece, revealing Bruce's body until he was in nothing but his mask and boxers. "Now, I'm going to need someone to hold his head while the rest log roll his body. I need to inspect his back."_

 _One of the girls immediately assumed a position at Bruce's head, her hands pressing on either side of his head. The others clumsily moved to random spots on one side of the stretcher, each being directed by Leslie. "We are now going to turn him onto his side, keeping his spine as straight as we can. On the count of three: one...two…_

" _Three." Working as one, the young vigilantes turned Bruce onto his right side and Leslie had to stifle a gasp. There was massive bruising on his back, swelling, if not a hematoma rising at the thoracic vertebra…possibly T9, maybe T10. Carefully, she began running her fingers down his back along the transverse process of the spinal cord._

 _That's when she found them. The T9 through T11 vertebra were crushed; that was the only way she could describe them. She was no neurosurgeon, but she knew what a normal vertebra looked and felt like and what it did not and these...my god, they were in_ pieces.

" _Lay him back down," Leslie ordered before turning around, hiding her horror from the others. At least, that's what she thought she was doing until she saw the small frame of Bruce's daughter, the girl standing in the doorway in grief._

 _Immediately, Leslie strode towards her, taking the girl in her arms. She had been aware of Bruce's plans to adopt Cassandra and had encouraged him to do so. Subsequently, she was one of the first, if only people to know when the adaption went through. Now though, she wondered if that was the right thing to do, giving this girl a father only to see him like...like..._

 _This…_

 _One thing was for certain, however; Bruce's life was on the line. Surgery was necessary to repair his back, if only to make sure it didn't end up killing him. There was no telling if he would be able to walk again, but leaving him the way he was would certainly leave him in a wheelchair._

" _How bad is the damage, Doc?" the youngest male in the room asked her._

" _I need an IV in him, STAT," Leslie suddenly ordered, pulling herself away from Cassandra. "One of you needs to go to Medical Room #3; there you will find several cases of a drug called Icosidron. Bring everything you can carry to Treatment Room #2. Lastly, Susan should still be in the clinic. Find her and report her to the Treatment Room."_

" _Umm, but none of us know how to put in an IV," one of the girls, the blonde, spoke up._

" _I'll take care of that," Leslie immediately replied. "Treatment Room #2, now. Every second counts here and if we're going to help him, it has to be now."_

Leslie shot her head up, sucking in a deep breath. Turning her head from the left to the right and back, she realized she was in her office.

My God, had she slept here again?

Raising a hand up, she rubbed her eyes, trying to rid herself of sleep. Dumbly, she stared at a box, one with big green letters that proclaimed ICOSIDRON.

Oh yes, the steroid medication Bruce and that friend of his from Star City had created. It was a super steroid, one that was twice the strength of Decadron, and was made between the two men's companies in a joint-venture; one that Bruce had sent to her clinic in the dead of night. It was clearly a donation, one that neither of them had expected Bruce would need in the future.

And it was key during the six hour surgery she and Susan had performed on his back. Again, she was no expert in neurosurgery, but she was competent. She had labored until she was certain the inflammation in the spine was receding, thanks to the Icosidron. She had done what she could do with the vertebra, placing them back into place and sealing the cracks shut with what was best described as a calcium-based glue.

All in all, it was a successful surgery in that Bruce's life had been spared. However, he hadn't regained consciousness in the hours following the surgery. His vitals were stable, heart rate and respirations at their normal ranges along with oxygen perfusion.

Unfortunately, Leslie had been practicing medicine for so long that she knew a coma when she saw one. How long they lasted was a guessing game at best and taking into account all of Bruce's injuries...well...there was no telling how long he would be unconscious.

Part of her wished it would last.

There would be pain, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. In fact, Leslie was counting on it to be excruciating. With Bruce unconscious, he was unaware of it; the moment he opened his eyes, however, it would be an entrance into agony. The longer he was out, she felt, the better.

On the flip side, the longer he was unconscious, the more anxious Cassandra felt. She hadn't left his side since the surgery last she saw. With a sigh, the doctor stood up from her desk and left her office. She meandered to Treatment Room #2, pausing in front of the door for only a moment before pushing it open.

 _Bruce laid on the table, hooked up to vital sign machines, telemetry monitors, and even oxygen. Sitting in a chair at the head of the table, a red-eyed Cassandra, still in her costume, her mask tightly gripped in one hand. She hadn't budged from her seat in several hours._

" _You need to get some rest," Leslie said as she entered the room, keeping her voice soft and gentle. A command would only cause the poor girl to chain herself to her current post._

" _As long as he is not awake, I will not rest," Cassandra told her, her voice raspy, another sign she had been crying recently. There were tear stains on her cheeks, her face written with loss._

" _You are not doing him, or yourself any favors by ignoring your own needs," the older woman was quick to remind her. "He would want you to care for yourself, no matter his status."_

 _There was a silence between then, one that Leslie concluded meant that the dark-haired girl would not be relinquishing her post. Food would have to brought to her then, if only to keep her fed. Before she could turn to retrieve some, however, she heard the girl speak._

" _He will get better, yes?"_

 _That was a loaded question. In comparison to life and death, yes he would. But with living came even more questions. Would Bruce return to full health? Would he be diminished?_

 _Would he ever walk again?_

 _That was really where everything depended. With the damage she saw, Leslie was more than certain Bruce would never take another step on his own. His spine had been snapped like a dry spaghetti noodle. He needed the help of a qualified neurosurgeon and he wasn't getting that here._

 _However, now was not the time to say this to the distraught girl in front of her._

" _I fully expect he will," she told Cassandra, a part of her dying inside. A lie of omission was still a lie after all._

 _Cassandra slowly nodded her head in acceptance. "This...this can't happen again," she said with surprising determination._

 _This caused Leslie to frown. "Whatever do you mean?"_

" _I'm...I'm going to take him away...far away...where they can't hurt him anymore."_

 _As touching as those words were, Leslie could feel the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Immediately, she was at the girl's side, kneeling down next to her. "He needs more medical attention," she told her firmly, yet gentle. "He's not out of the woods just yet, but he will get there with proper care and treatment. We can discuss moving him later."_

" _But they will try to find him," Cassandra responded, strength returning to her voice. "They will try to finish him. I cannot...I will not let that happen."_

" _And they won't," Leslie replied just as sternly. "Those other vigilantes, Huntress and Black Canary and their friends, are keeping an eye on this place. They will stop whomever comes here with ill intent. You are safer here than anywhere else."_

 _That seemed to pacify the girl as she looked away from the doctor, numbly nodding. "Okay," she whispered softly._

The sight of Bruce and Cassandra slowly faded away before Leslie's eyes. She stood in the doorway of the empty room, the operating table already prepared for its next patient, along with the surgical supplies and deactivated equipment.

That had been the last time Leslie had seen either of the two. The fading visual was more apt than she cared to admit. The next day they had vanished into thin air, along with the ambulance that had brought Bruce here. With the tracking device removed, there was no way to follow the ambulance. On top of that, various medical supplies had been taken, along with a few cases of the Icosidron, painkillers, and dressing supplies.

It had shocked her, but then Leslie could sympathize. Long ago, she had wanted to do the same thing for Bruce, whisking him away from this dark city and forgetting all of its troubles. Cassandra had done just that. The other vigilantes had lost their minds with their disappearance.

To Leslie, she was of split minds. There was a part of her that wanted them found, if only so that she was certain Bruce was still receiving proper medical treatment. Knowing that he was alright and never having the answer plagued her mind, especially at night when the clinic was closed.

And yet, the other part of her wished she never saw them again. It was a strange thought to be sure, but bear with her. The longer their absence, the less trauma Bruce could inflict on himself. If she never saw them again, it meant that Bruce had come to and was unable to continue his vigil as Batman; that Cassandra had convinced him to give up his mad crusade. It would also mean he was alive because she could easily see his daughter returning for vengeance on the ones that had hurt him.

"I hope you're okay," she whispered to herself, a prayer for her missing, but unforgotten family. "And I hope you never come back."

* * *

A couple notes: Bane's words when he tosses Batman into the streets is right out of the comics, albeit with some edits to improve the flow. I know many of you were waiting for that scene the infamous Knightfall moment happened and I hope this didn't disappoint.

The Icosidron steroid is a fictional drug created for this story by myself and Anonymous Void. Obviously the footwork for the drug was started a few stories ago, but it worked out well. Icosi- is latin for twenty, much like Deca- is for ten, so that's where the name comes from.


	2. Darkness Looms

_The doors were kicked opened, Trogg, Zombie and Bird rushing in to secure the room. There was the sound of gunfire, all shots aimed at the roof. The intent was to get attention, not execute. With their automatic rifles, they easily subdued the men in the room with only the sight of the weapons. The men said weapons were pointed at could only stare with a mixture of surprise and shock, completely taken off guard by the sudden invasion._

 _Then Bane entered the room._

" _Who...who the hell are you freaks?" the leader of this group of suited men demanded, an odd, metal prosthetic sitting prominently where his nose was. This could be no other than Novak, "No Nose" as he was otherwise known._

 _Bane ignored the question, instead stating, "You know who I am."_

 _Novak stared at him, still on edge, but showing no sign of further hostility. It took the man a moment before he finally said, "Yeah… Yeah. You're the guy. You're the guy who took down the Bat."_

" _Then I'm no freak," Bane stated._

 _Before any replies could be made, Bird spoke up. "Hey Jimmy. Long time no see."_

 _Novak's eyes widened as soon as the spotted the blond-haired man. "Colossimo? Is that you? I thought you was dead!"_

 _Bird smirked darkly. "Nice try, Jimmy. We both know what a piece of bull that is."_

" _What do you want?" Novak turned back to Bane, obvious tremors wracking his body._

" _Everything you own. Your turf. Your men. All operations."_

" _Fuck that shit!" one of Novak's men exclaimed, reaching into his suit._

" _Shut up!" Novak snapped at the man in question. Then, to the masked giant of a man, "You and I, I think we can work something out. Maybe we can form a partnership."_

" _No. I am not interested in partnerships, nor working_ with _anyone. You will all be working_ for _me. Those who refuse…" His loyal generals steadied their guns at the group, eyeing the men hungrily._

" _No Nose! You're going to let him talk to us like that!" the man from before demanded._

" _There's no let in this, Mitch, but don't worry. You won't have to hear any more disrespect ever again," Bird retorted._

And that had been the start. From the beginning, Novak was to be a warning to rest of Gotham's underworld. Bane was here for everything, starting with all criminal activities. Anyone who hesitated and presumed too much were executed. The bloodbath that had followed was a start, and with Novak out of the way, any survivors were quick to pledge their loyalty to Bane.

Six weeks later, most of the opposition was either decimated or in full retreat. By now, if you had not surrendered, no quarter was to be given. Even should his remaining enemies choose this course of action, it would be not accepted. Mercy had only been permitted in the beginning, and only so as to gain vital intelligence on how the criminal enterprises in Gotham worked. Men who so easily switched loyalties had no place in Bane's Gotham.

To seize control had been simple. The street-level thugs were no match to the disciplined Santa Priscan mercenaries brought along as cannon fodder. These men were brutal and efficient in comparison to the starved ranks of any organized crime family. Before any alerts to law enforcement could be made, the violence would already be over, and another operation completed, ending with more turf in Bane's grip.

It would not be long until the rest of the city followed suit.

As domination was turning to completion, it was only a matter of time until dissension in the ranks could be expected. Not to Bane's surprise, that dissension came from one of his trusted generals, more specifically Trogg.

For the past weeks since the masked man's announcement of Batman's defeat, the hardened man had been making comments and questions, all directed towards one detail.

"He is alive because I permitted it," Bane stated to his demolitions man. "To complete the Batman's fall, he needed to be alive for the following humiliation."

"I do not mean to question you, but I disagree with it. So long as he remains alive, this Batman could pose a threat. Threats, even if they are not real, must be crushed," Trogg argued. "You know this. You should know this."

"I do, Trogg. But breaking the Batman's spine would not be enough to break his mind, or his spirit. He is more than a man, a symbol, and a simple death would not have accomplished anything." Bane had not torn his gaze from the television, the channel set on the news, which was reporting about the recent spike of violence in the city. Naturally, all blame was laid at his feet, for which he would take the credit. "The death of a symbol is much harder than the death of a man. To wit, his broken body, still breathing, would carry a stronger message as well as tear away the myth surrounding him."

"I understand the importance of symbols, Bane. I only question why you have not finished the man off afterwards. They continue to show your victory on all the outlets—" Trogg gestured towards the television, which was once again playing the footage of the Santa Priscan man throwing the defeated vigilante out into the streets before a massive crowd, "—and focus on the blood he continues to spill. His mortality is clear to blind men. I ask why you have not killed him the following day, or even the day after that."

"There is no point and it would be a waste of time. There would be no purpose or accomplishment in ending the life of an invalid," Bane answered. "I have more important matters to attend to, such as my conquest of Gotham. Immediate action was required to subdue as much of it as I have. But that job is not finished."

"Indeed," Zombie agreed, joining the conversation. "There is still resistance in the northern sector of the city. What's left of the Italian mob is still there. They have refused to leave the city and all of their remaining operations."

"Unfortunately, they may stick around longer than we'd want," Bird added. "They're turning a whole city block into a fortress. While our men are good, they're stretched thin enough as it is. If we're to hold onto what we have, we're either going to have to consolidate, or find new recruits."

"Not necessarily," Bane disagreed. "While it is true that our forces are not at full strength, we do have reserves to turn to."

"What reserves?" Bird questioned.

"The men in police custody," Zombie stated, picking up on the masked man's thoughts.

Bane nodded in confirmation. "They're well rested and will be eager to prove themselves. However, we will have to act soon if we are to liberate them. The police commissioner is planning to transfer all arrests to facilities outside of the city."

"And if we strike first, not only will we be shoring up our numbers, we will be striking at the cops as well. Show that not even they can stand up to you," Bird finished. "I'm really liking this plan."

"Begin the preparations," Bane ordered from the chair he reclined in. "We strike at nightfall. Law enforcement will be weakest at their jail, their officers spread out throughout the city to try and fight us off. We will show them that not even their authority means anything. Only mine."

"As you wish," Zombie said before leaving for another room to begin organizing the men.

Without looking, there was one other matter that was not yet finished. "What is it, Trogg?"

"You know my thoughts. One does not need the use of their legs to continue resisting. Should his mind ever heal, the Batman will return in one form or another. Like you yourself have proven, not all threats are physical. The mind is another battlefield, in which you have also defeated him."

"If it is so important to you, Trogg, then go after him. Finish it," Bane said, his impatience seeping into his voice. "The Batman is beneath me now, where he will always remain. Gotham is my next conquest and requires all of my attention."

"I will handle it and bring his head for you as a trophy," Trogg swore.

Bane nodded, but said nothing more. Already, he was considering how this would affect his future plans. Trogg's talent for demolition would be missed, but it was something that could be worked around. Not all bombs and explosives needed to be masterpieces. Crude could be just as effective as refined.

Once he had the criminal underworld under his full control, everything else, from the centers of business, to the halls of governance, the rest would be conquered. Gotham, though, would not be the last to fall.

Gotham was only the beginning.

* * *

Never before had Gordon welcomed the space that was his office. The firmly shut door muffled the droning buzz of ringing phones that kept on screaming without end. It had been like that for weeks, ever since the newcomer Bane had begun his war on Gotham.

The fact that the phone calls kept coming in meant that Bane was winning.

But that was only one part of the problem. The other part was one that had him, for a change, berating the mayor and not the other way around. Even now he still remembered the fury he felt, anger not only fed by the recent Arkham breakout, but also by the images of a bloody, almost broken-looking Batman lying in the streets.

" _I warned you, Hady! I warned you that Arkham was not the place to be keeping those people!" the Commissioner thundered, standing over a miserable-looking Hady, who did not shy away from his rage. The Mayor for his part was slumped forward, the sides of his head held up by his hands, propped up by elbows._

" _I know, Gordon, I messed up," Hady groaned. It wasn't a groan that meant he was getting tired of the Commissioner's rant, but that he knew he was in deep shit and knew not how to get himself out of it._

 _Hundreds of recaptured Blackgate inmates, all of them back on the street, were undoing all the hard work the GCPD had done to round them up in the first place. Bad enough as that was, that was one more thing that made this situation even worse._

" _Explain to me why. Why did you think that it was a good idea in the first place to put those people in the same place as the Joker?" Gordon demanded. He already knew the reason: convenience. However, maybe it was the turmoil still welling in him from seeing the badly-injured form of Batman flashing in his mind that had him wanting more._

" _I thought Sharp could handle it. He was a goddamn warden, for Christ's sake! Who else could be qualified for it?" Hady answered, not lifting his gaze from his desk._

 _Speaking of which._

" _This was a one time thing. Growing pains. Arkham is not yet suited for the demand we have of having to put these animals somewhere," Sharp, the man only mentioned a second ago, spoke up. Even though the world was falling apart, there was not a strand of hair out of place, or a wrinkle in his suit._

" _Growing pains, my ass! The kind of load you wanted to hold there was not suitable. Arkham could not,_ and can not, _substitute for Blackgate! It's obvious to everyone that the only unqualified person in this room is you!" Gordon snarled._

 _Sharp didn't take too kindly to the criticism. "How dare… I'd like to see that woman you're fond of do better."_

" _There's a difference between you and Warden Zorbatos. With her, the prison was attacked from the_ outside. _You? Yours came from the_ inside. _You underestimated the people you were holding and what happens? The Joker, the man who's responsible for filling cemeteries with countless innocent people, gets out of his cell and frees everyone in the building. You've only been in charge of Arkham for a little over a year, and now people like Tetch, who kidnapped the niece of a senator, and Crane, who created a poison that makes you see your worst fears, are back on the streets now. We're lucky that Harvey Two-Face is still there because he couldn't flip his coin to decide if he wanted to leave or not._

" _But wait, there's also Hugo Strange, who also happens to be linked to several major incidents like the October 27th attacks, releasing a bunch of Man-Bats, and creating Two-Face in the first place, is back out there too. Not to mention the Joker got out as well! And you're going to say that this all happened because of_ growing pains _? No Sharp, this one's on you, and please, do tell your friends in Trenton how this latest breakout is everyone else's fault other than your own. On your watch, the Joker got out of his cell! My forensics team found out that he's been getting out of it on a daily basis! Under your watch!_ Explain how that one happened!"

" _Gordon! We get it!" Hady interrupted, preventing a red-faced Sharp from answering. "It's obvious that we...I made a mistake. I know that. What would you have me do? We're still patching up Blackgate. What are we supposed to do with these people?"_

" _This can't stay in house_ _—not anymore. Until Blackgate is certified secured, we need to reach out to the other prisons in the state. Hell, any prison on the eastern seaboard should be looked into. If we're to do anything to fix this, we need to get these people away from Gotham. That way we don't risk a_ third _breakout whether it comes from the outside, or the inside," Gordon listed out, and for once, he had a mayor hanging on his every word._

 _For a man who campaigned on being tough on crime, this whole thing was a nightmare. He was going to do anything to fix it and save his ass in the next election cycle._

" _I'll make the calls," Hady said after a moment. "I'll do it personally. I'll talk with the governor, the Department of Corrections, the goddamn Federal Bureau of Prisons_ _—everyone. You're right, we need to get these people out of Gotham, not keep them here."_

" _Hady, this is just_ —" _Sharp began to speak._

" _No, Sharp, Gotham is going to hell in a hand basket and we need to do everything to fix that. It's obvious that you weren't up to the task of managing Arkham, that's for certain," Hady interrupted. "Do your best to get Arkham secured, but know that it's not going to stay in your hands for long. I'm looking for your replacement as soon as you leave. While the Commissioner believes you still have friends in Trenton, I'm aware that after the last election, many of them were voted out of office. They don't have the same clout anymore. Do everyone a favor, go quietly, don't make a ruckus, and even this will go away."_

 _Sharp looked like he was about to throw a fit, but he stayed silent. His red face revealed how much he wanted to shout back._

" _If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go do my job and recapture as many of these new escapees as I can," Gordon said. Nodding to Hady, he turned and exited the office because he didn't want to stay any longer than needed._

 _However, leaving the Mayor's office was the easy part. Leaving the building was another._

" _I don't think I've ever heard you so angry before," Zorbatos herself spoke, leaning up against a wall with her arms crossed. With a single eye piercing into him, "I don't know if I should be flattered that you once again stood up for me, or not."_

" _Take it as you will; what's the latest?" Gordon asked._

" _As of now, two of the major holes are patched up. They'll need more reinforcement to meet my liking, but for the most part no inmate will be digging their way through them. The steel for the outer wall just arrived, though if we have enough to completely fix it is another matter. Those steel tariffs couldn't have come at a worse time," Zorbatos reported. "Oh, and so you know, I have my best man reformatting the whole security system. Lyle will make sure that even a bunker buster won't crack the walls this time and make the Great Chinese Firewall a memory."_

 _Competence, good._

" _What about the inmates you still have? Are they secured?" he pressed._

" _That you ask insults me, but yes, they are. Tighter than a sardine can. Block C will be ready by the end of the week, if not the following Monday." Zorbatos leaned forward. "Certified, by the way."_

 _She had heard that too. Then she also heard the rest. "Don't expect anyone to fill those cells anytime soon. Due to what's happening in the city, I've already advocated for transferring any new arrests."_

" _Just gives me more time to make my prison all the better," Zorbatos shrugged._

 _Gordon paused. "That...doesn't piss you off?"_

" _Everything you do pisses me off, it's only to what degree," Blackgate's warden retorted. "However, my hands are tied; I don't have the same leverage as I used to. If anything, I'll use the people I still have to test out C Block when it's ready and beef up A and B Blocks in the meantime. No one will be escaping me this time, even if they come with an army."_

 _The Commissioner nodded in understanding. Privately, he knew this was Zorbatos' own way of telling herself she still had some control over the situation, when the truth was that no one did. The only person that did was already plunging the city into chaos._

" _If there's any you want to ship off, send a list to me. They'll be out before the day's over," he said instead._

" _Seems like you still aren't finished with asking anything of me," the Warden jested. Though her tone of voice was light, her single eye was narrowed. "Could it be that the loss of that vigilante has gotten to you?"_

" _This is only a change in tactics. For all we know, this Bane was responsible for the initial breakout," Gordon found himself retorting. "If he feels the need to, he could gain more followers by raiding what's left of Blackgate, then come for the rest down in lockup. I'd rather starve him out and deny him whatever manpower he can get."_

" _Ah, so you're worried that you're going to be hit too," Zorbatos remarked. "Guess you have a lot to do, Commissioner. Now, I have to meet with the Mayor myself and while I'm in there, I guess I can bury what's left of Sharp. After your little tantrum, I do have a lot of ammunition to use."_

 _Gordon grunted and began heading down the hallway. Zorbatos never could give up a grudge, especially when it involved those people whom she despised._

 _However, the point he had raised up with her was now weighing heavily on his mind. First a breakout at Blackgate, then Arkham. The only place left in the city that still held any prisoners was at GCPD headquarters. As his first wife once remarked, everything comes in threes._

And with the rule of three in mind, the Commissioner had been working nonstop to get transfer agreements with any and all correctional facilities he could. One of the first transfers had been that of Pamela Isley, because like hell he was going to keep her here when there was no place that he could trust to be secure enough to hold her. Strykers up in Metropolis had generously agreed to hold her until she could be brought to trial, and for a place that regularly held the enemies of Superman, that had been a godsend.

However, there were still Blackgate, and now Arkham, inmates that had been recaptured in the past few weeks. What to do with them? On top of that, there were some odd, Hispanic commandos that had been brought in some time before the news on Batman broke. Who the hell were they? What were they doing in his city?

Those were questions to be answered later. Right now, he was in the process of signing off on their transfer papers to get them out of town. Whoever they were would have to wait until the situation here calmed down, or was resolved, preferably the latter.

It was a lot of work to do, and he found that it was much more preferable to do. It preventing him from thinking that maybe...maybe this time...maybe this was the last time that Batman would ever leave.

For some reason, the thought that he could come back did not seem plausible.

And that thought would not leave him alone.

* * *

With exhaustion, Huntress sighed as she pressed her back up against a roof access structure, sliding down it until her butt touched down on the gravel-covered roof.

Six weeks—it might as well have been six months, or even six years. She could remember a time where she didn't feel this tired; she knew such a time existed. However, she could also recall a time when it seemed like the city was going to Hell.

Unlike that time though, there had been no let up this time. Bane had struck Gotham in a way no one had expected. First he took down the Bat, then without hesitation he cracked down on the city's remaining criminal element. This wasn't the Falcone or Maroni crime families at the peak of their power, mind you; the size of those organizations couldn't survive with the vigilantes bearing down on them. These were small time outfits that rarely disturbed the waters lest Batman, or the Birds of Prey crashed their little parties.

No-Nose Novak was the largest of such groups and now he and his top guys were more like bloody Swiss cheese than men. Such news swept through the criminal underground. Some armed themselves while others went on the defensive. There were a couple that even tried to launch a surprise attack.

All fell just the same. Bane's mercenaries treated the criminals like shooting dummies. Now, it was safe to say that Gotham was falling neatly into Bane's hands and the resistance was damn near non-existent.

That included the vigilantes. No matter where Huntress went, it was always too late to help stave off the next massacre. She only ever found a battlefield of dead bodies and blood. It was like trying to stop an arsonist from lighting a fire, except there were twenty more of them lighting up at the same time and they had flamethrowers.

Faintly, Huntress thought back to the last time Batman was gone. It had to be the Great Gotham Fire, when everyone thought he had died. At first, there had been a strange sense of peace—peace meaning no activity on the criminal front. They had spent months being beaten down by the Bat and then the Joker had torn the city a new one, no one knew just what to do in the smoldering remains. Months had gone by before new crime families rushed to fill in the power vacuum.

In response, Huntress had run into Black Canary and Katana and they had formed the Birds of Prey. The Batclan popped up sometime after that and they tried to hold the city together with middling success right up until Batman returned to the scene.

No such break had been given this time. Both vigilante groups were still on the scene, so their emergence wasn't an option now.

And there wasn't going to be a return for Batman, not this time. She had gotten a look at him at Leslie's clinic; she had been filled in on the extent of the injuries he had sustained. A crippled man wasn't going to be coming back on a white steed in shining armor, even if he were still alive. It was kind of a prerequisite to walk in order to fight crime.

Raising a hand up, the purple-clad vigilante ran her fingers through her long, dark hair. With all of those little—read, big—facts in front of her, it made her wonder why she kept up with this. She was running herself ragged in a losing fight. Don't get her wrong, she had been in losing fights before, but there was a least a glimmer of a chance at victory.

There was none of that now.

What would Batman do in this case? Huntress snorted. He would still keep fighting, of course. He never gave up, even when things looked their bleakest. It was as if giving up wasn't in his vocabulary, at least the part that wasn't used to threaten thugs and robbers. This was the job, no matter how hopeless it was.

So how was it he always seemed to come out on top?

She shook her head. Alright, she couldn't think like the Bat. His way didn't always work for her, even though that was probably the best way in the long run. He wasn't here anymore, so now she needed to come up with what would work for Huntress. So far, running around solo wasn't working. In fact, that hadn't worked so well after the Gotham Fire either.

So she needed backup. Who though? It wasn't like there was a second coming of the Birds to pick from. She wasn't going to join the Batclan either, not with their recent youth movement. She didn't feel like watching more amateur vigilantes come out of the woodwork so that she could scoop them up and train them. She didn't have that kind of temperament, not when it came to fighting. Not when one small mistake could kill her and her trainees. She supposed she could go back to the Birds for the time being; Lord knows Canary would let her come back.

She wouldn't crawl though. That was a no-go; she still had her pride after all.

Of course, she would have to go find them and with everything that was going done, that wasn't going to be an easy venture.

* * *

Paul Webber would not be needing his condo in Zurich anymore. Said man was slumped in a very comfortable chair, his hand still gripping the glass of wine that was yet to be finished. With a robe covering much of his body, the garment was stained with blood which leaked from a large gash in his neck.

Though his body was cooling, his condo had not been vacated by his killer. No, the person responsible for his death was close by, peering down into an open laptop whose light, outside of the one in the small kitchen, lit up the large room.

On the portable computer's screen was a video, one that held the contents of Batman's broken body falling into the streets below where he laid still, not moving. It took a sharp eye to pick out that the fallen vigilante was still breathing, but that it was shallow, enough that most would make the mistake that he was dead.

The murderer, however, knew that the bloodied man was far from dead, nowhere near the state that Mr. Webber was. As the video played out, an internet personality replaced that of Batman's body, making commentary on the footage as well as mentioning that the event being discussed had occurred six weeks prior.

There had been no more signs of the Batman since.

This was not the first time that Batman had vanished. The first time had been for three years. The second a month. Both times, neither had any visual evidence of any injury sustained by the costumed man. This, this was a first and the state in which he was last seen was very...interesting.

By now, most of the wounds should have healed up, provided he had received the proper medical care. Even then, there were some injuries that could not be healed in that amount of time, meaning that the vigilante was still incapacitated to some degree.

This meant this was an opportunity for the killer. A chance to tie up loose ends that had been left behind, still begging after all this time to be tied up.

Because there were still those out there who had thought to use it. To throw it away when they were finished with it. Who had managed, like the former Paul Webber here until recently, to avoid the sharp eye of the Batman and had gotten away with their crimes.

They thought they were safe, even now. But that couldn't be any further from the truth. It had only been a stay of execution, no more, no less. As long as Batman had patrolled the streets of Gotham, it had been too risky to even consider returning. But time was up. It was now so much more safer.

As light gleamed off a long blade, the darkly dressed killer shut the laptop and picked it up. The device still held important information, specifically a list of contacts of certain individuals of the False Face variety. Also important, he held some...incriminating evidence that the killer would prefer not to be made public. Naturally, the late Mr. Webber had been eager to share his password in the vain hope of sparing his life.

It was time to leave, then prepare, and see to the proper arrangements.

After so long, the Phantasm would return to Gotham.

* * *

To Guest: Things are going to get a lot worse before it gets better. That's just how Gotham works


	3. Assault On The GCPD

"Are you going to pick that up?"

Bullock stared at the ringing phone for a moment before he lazily turned his eyes. Staring at him impatiently was Maggie Sawyer, who looked as if she should be tapping her foot like a disappointed parent. She had both of her hands on her hips and had a scowl on her face.

"I'm thinking about it," he grunted before returning his eyes to the phone.

"You know, that phone isn't going to answer itself," she pressed, not the least bit discouraged. "You're on the clock last I checked, so that means you need to do your job."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" he replied before looking back to the blonde. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not in the mood."

"That's unacceptable."

"Maybe it is in Metropolis," he admitted, "but this is Gotham. We don't have flying men that battle monsters and robots and whatever shit goes on there."

"But we do have crime and we do have officers that handle it, even without Superman. Now answer the damn phone."

"Fine." Bullock reached over and snatched the phone off its stand. "This is Bullock."

Suddenly, the doors to the unit blew apart, smoke and fire pouring through the doorway as the shattered pieces of polished oak flew throughout the room. Officers and detectives ducked for cover, many of which pulled out their firearms.

Through the smoke, the unmistakable sound of automatic gunfire erupted, a torrent of bullets tearing through the room and blanketing the back wall. Men in combat fatigues came flooding in, spreading out along the front wall of the bullpen.

Ducking behind his desk, Bullock adjusted his grip on his pistol before he popped and fired a single shot. He nailed one of the attackers just as he came through the door, his head jerking back as blood exploded out the back of his skull. The man collapsed even as his friends turned their gunfire on the police lieutenant. Immediately, the large man ducked behind his cover, his desk getting riddled with bullets an instant later, sending his paperwork, lamp, and desk supplies flying up into the air.

That was when the other officers began returning fire, popping out from their respective covers and firing off a couple shots before ducking back out of sight. A couple of them weren't so lucky as they were hit by return fire, bullets tearing through their bodies and dropping them to the floor.

"Sound the alarm!" Maggie shouted, her voice just barely being heard over the gunshots—and by barely, that only meant Bullock since he was at the desk next to the one she had hid behind. What, did she think this was the Tet Offensive, or something? Bullock peeked around his desk before he jerked back, the side of his desk bursting apart an instant later. Huh, maybe Sawyer was onto something.

Taking a deep breath, he then popped again, unloading a couple more shots, none of which hit as the the invaders had begun taking their own cover on the other side of the room. Pulling out the empty magazine, Bullock then reached for a drawer and pulled it open, reaching in and pulling out another magazine. He had a couple on his person, but he'd save those for later. Right now he'd use his spares first. Loading the gun, he cocked it and leaned out from his desk.

It was because of this that he saw him. The lieutenant would've recognized the giant son of a bitch anywhere. Strolling into the bullpen was Bane, not even bothering to avoid gunfire, not that anyone was aiming at him. There he was, like he owned the precinct.

"Mother fucker!" Bullock shouted as he pointed his gun and fired.

* * *

The doors to the jail cells slid shut, large steel bolts sliding into place. The moment the sound of gunfire was heard, lockdown protocols were thrown into place.

Montoya stared at the steel barrier, antsy as hell. On the other side of the doors, her friends were fighting for their lives against who knows what. She wanted to be out there; she needed to be out there. And yet, here she was, in the safest part of the GCPD.

At least the prisoners weren't loose.

Montoya rested a hand on her sidearm as she turned away from the doors and began walking down the corridor, looking from the wall at the end of the walkway to the line of jail cells next to her. It was clear the Blackgate escapees were restless, pressing themselves against the bars, their hands gripping onto the cool metal. As for the mercenaries, they were all lounging in their cells, casually looking at the officer as she passed by, but paying little mind to her, or the rat-tat-tat of machine guns.

All except the cell at the end.

"Hey man, what you doin'?" a voice demanded over the nervous chattering in the cells. Hesitating for a split-second, Montoya then picked up her pace.

"Holy shit, it's a bomb!"

An instant later, an explosion erupted, the force of the shock wave blowing Montoya back through the air. Pieces of cement were thrown out in all directions, bouncing against undamaged walls and the floor. Montoya hit the floor a moment later herself, skidding across it as the back of her head bounced up and down on the ground, causing stars to burst into her vision.

For a moment, Montoya lost all track of time as her head pounded with pain. Faintly, she was aware of someone's hands grabbing her around her shoulders and she was pulled, her body dragging across the debris-covered floor. Cracking open her closed eyes, she tilted her head up and caught sight of dark figures moving through dissipating smoke.

That's when the gunfire erupted, some from behind her, but a lot more in front of her. Montoya was then pulled to a side and she couldn't see much beyond the sudden appearance of jail bars. She could hear screaming and yelling mingled in the gunfire, but it sounded so far away.

Whoever had been pulling her, their hands suddenly let go of her. Someone stepped around her and that was the last Montoya saw of them...alive at least. The officer had moved up to the corner of the jail cell and immediately got hit with gunfire, his body jerking back and then falling to floor, blood sprinkling over everything.

Numbly, Montoya began to move, getting onto her stomach and moving to the edge of the cell. Peeking out while lying on the floor, she started to make out more of the attackers, seeing them in black combat fatigues. One was standing in front of a jail cell, placing something on it before stepping a few steps away. There was a small explosion shortly after, the door to the jail cell swinging open. Had to be a plastic explosive, she numbly thought.

As the demolitionist moved onto the next cell, Montoya soon realized just which cells were being targeted. The apprehended mercenaries began to emerge from the open jail cell, each one being quickly armed by the combat-ready men.

By then, unfortunately, most of the officers on guard duty had been wounded, or were dead. Any resistance was relegated to a couple of handguns being fired at the heavily-armed men. It was because of this that one of the attackers emerged with a grenade launcher without fear of being shot and fired his weapon right at the police officers.

"Get down!" she heard someone cried before the explosion erupted before her eyes.

* * *

Gordon watched through the open doorway as Officer Borg was gunned down in the middle of the hallway, the younger man screaming as he was throw backwards from the force of the bullets ripping through him. He fell to the floor, his blood spreading out all around him as it leaked out of the bullet holes in his body.

 _Goddamn it!_ Gordon swore as he pressed his back against the door behind him. It was the door to the interrogation room and he was the only thing keeping it open. There were gunman at the end of the hall and one too many cop bodies lying on the floor. Pistol held by his head with both hands, he waited for a lull in the gunfire before he spun around and stuck the gun through the doorway, firing off a couple shots before snatching his hand and weapon back.

Immediately, he heard cries of surprise, followed by words he didn't understand. He thought it sounded like Spanish, but it could've been Swahili for all he knew. He definitely understood the return of gunfire as sparks exploded off the metal door frame as bullets hit and ricocheted off of it.

And then there was more sounds of machine guns being fired, but this time they came from the opposite direction in the hall. Confused, the Commissioner stared through the doorway until he saw a member of the SWAT team appear in his view. The man suddenly jerked to a side, shoving open a door across the hallway from Gordon, taking cover.

"It's about damn time!" Gordon shouted, which got the SWAT member's attention.

"Commissioner! Are you okay?" the man responded.

"Don't worry about me, just push those bastards back!" Leaning through the doorway, Gordon fired off a few more rounds, this time certain he hit someone as he saw one of the attackers jerk backwards and then fall to the floor.

The hallway wasn't all that long, with doors placed randomly up and down the corridor, open doors at the ends. Of the ones up and down the hall, a few were open, like the one Gordon was using, and others were closed. It was towards one end that gunmen were trying to enter the hallway.

Thankfully, the SWAT team had entered from the other end and their firepower had stopped the attackers' advancement. Once he had emptied his clip, Gordon leaned back behind his cover, trading the empty clip for a full one, cocking back the hammer. "We have to push them back!" he shouted at the visible SWAT member.

"Roger!" the man acknowledged. "Keep pressing forward!" he ordered to his men, receiving a barrage of gunfire from the other SWAT members as they began working their way down the hallway. One of the men ducked into the interrogation room with Gordon, reloading his automatic rifle with quick efficiency.

"Hey, what gives?" a voice called out, causing Gordon to frown. Peaking around the door frame, the white-haired man caught sight of the gunmen pulling back the way they came. While that's what he wanted, he only saw a few of the black-clad man lying on the floor, which was a much smaller group than the wounded or dead police officers. While the GCPD SWAT team was good—really good—this struck Gordon as a sudden change. After all, when you were winning a battle, you didn't immediately fallback when reinforcements showed up.

Spotting a gunman darting for the open door, Gordon raised his handgun and fired, hitting the man in the leg and sending him falling to floor with a cry. The SWAT member next to Gordon then shot out into the hall, advancing up it as he laid out a stream of gunfire, taking cover in the next room. Gordon didn't bother hiding as he continued to look down the corridor, coming to the conclusion there was a lot less resistance from the enemy.

Something was going down.

* * *

" _We're through. We're getting our guys out now,"_ Bird reported over the radio transmitter.

Bane stared out into the carnage of the GCPD's Major Crimes Unit, standing right out in the open without fear of reprisal. Many of the policemen were dead, leaving only a few paltry pockets of resistance. His mercenaries could conceivably eliminate them with ease. Even now, as bullets whizzed by him, he had no fear that he would be hit. The survival instinct within each policemen would ensure they never take a well-aimed shot at him. A few had come close, but whomever that shooter was was most likely dead from the immediate return fire from his men.

The purpose of the multiple strike points was to draw the police away from the jail cells, where Bird and Zombie could free their men with minimal resistance. And there was no better bait to draw these pigs' attention than himself storming through the front door. No doubt all of the station's officers were rushing to this location to capture, if not kill, him. These reinforcements would find that difficult as they were ambushed by the other teams.

However, he had lost some men and no doubt had lost some at other locations. Now was not the time to get greedy; the Gotham Police could be squashed at a later time. This strike had weakened them and they would not be able to remedy their situation before he was ready to move on them with full force.

The objective had been completed; it was time to go.

"All positions, withdraw," he ordered over his radio set. Immediately, the men before him began laying out cover fire as they made their way to the room's entrance. That would keep the police at bay until they were safely—

Out of nowhere a chair came swinging at him. In response, Bane raised an arm up, blocking the chair as it broke into pieces against him. Standing next to him was a fat policemen, his clothing disheveled and unkempt. He was the epitome of slobbiness.

"You come into my precinct and think you can just walk away?!" the dark-haired man demanded as he pulled back the remains of the chair he had been holding, attempting to hit Bane with it again. In response, the much larger man shot his hand out as his foe swung the broken chair, catching it in mid-swing.

With a jerk of his arm, he ripped the debris out of the cop's hands, dropping it to the floor once his arm was drawn back. Then with the same hand, he balled it into a fist and threw it, slamming it into officer's chest. The force of the blow sent the man flying backwards through the air until he crashed against a wall, falling to the floor a moment later unmoving.

Not sparing a moment further on the man, Bane turned his back on the precinct and strolled through the doorway. Whatever resistance that was left in this place was broken; he would not be attacked again. He had done what he had come here to do.

This mission was finished.

* * *

The superior mind never truly knew rest. No, if it were to continue to prove itself, it couldn't ever rest.

Hugo Strange knew this well—too well. And in the process of proving his mind's superiority, he had to deal with all forms of adversity to do so. So many plans, so many schemes, yet he was denied at almost every turn. From the self-righteous, to the weak-willed, to the arrogant, and the petty, all conspired to deny him the recognition that he truly deserved.

Recent events, however, had almost destroyed any possible methods he could to finally get one over the Batman, the true target of his machinations. He was appalled that after years of sending threat after threat to test and ultimately triumph over his bat-themed nemesis, someone new and not native to the city of Gotham had invaded and succeeded where he and so many others had failed.

And the self-righteous, the weak-willed, the arrogant, and the petty all paid close attention to it, never peeling their eyes from the visage of their fallen idol, continuously fed by a twenty-four hour news cycle.

For six weeks there were no signs of him, no signs that he was coming back. For six weeks, Bane had asserted himself, bringing so many under heel. For six weeks, the city had withstood this assault, getting closer and closer to the brink. It was only so long until it all caved in. The people would bow before their conqueror, desperate to find any way to survive and choosing to keep their heads down in the hope of remaining unnoticed.

But he, Professor Hugo Strange, was far from finished.

A veritable set of chemistry equipment, all filled with various chemicals and in various states of reactions, various papers filled up with chemical equations, and several books rested on the table in front of the former shrink. A cloth-based air filter covered his nose and mouth so as to spare him from breathing in the multiple fumes emitted from the mentioned reactions. He documented his observations, making notes of whether or not he was heading in the correct direction, which would further his goals.

Off to a side, a television possessed the image of the latest crime lord himself, Bane, holding an injured Batman over his head seconds before he threw the Dark Knight into the streets below. It was the only thing that the bald, bearded man allowed to be shown from the media, and one he used as motivation to press on. A visual challenge to answer, and one in which he fully intended to answer.

The professor had been hard at work these last few weeks.

Once he had escaped from Arkham, leaving the Joker to handle the fallout, he had contacted the few remaining resources he had left, all of them participants in the now defunct False Face Society. It hadn't only been Roman Sionis and his pet assassin that Strange had worked his skills over. These associates had been influenced by him to a lesser extent, but what he had done had allowed him to set up shop once more and helped to bring him to this point. In particular, he had gained a base of operations and capital to fund this latest enterprise.

These former False Facers had no choice but to bow to his whims. The ex-psychiatrist had programmed them well. Once set up, Strange had begun planning his next scheme, and it was an obvious one. If he truly were to prove himself the superior mind now, there was only one way to do it. Since Batman had already been bested, it stood to reason that he needed to best the man who had bested the Bat.

That was going to be a problem. From appearance alone, Bane and Hugo Strange couldn't be further apart. Bane was a mountain of a man in peak physical condition. Strange was an older man still healing from the wounds he had suffered from months ago, a step away from being a cripple. It was no contest on this front; a battle of minds that would end in brawn winning hands down.

Strange had believed for a time that he didn't need to confront this Bane on that field. However, he had needed some intelligence on the man, and thus conspired to find someone who knew something of value. Naturally, he had noticed that the band of mercenaries that Bane employed were very peculiar, and it had taken some time to get his hands on one of them. An abduction when the man in question had thought himself safe, one accomplished with a couple programmed pawns, former clients from his days as Dr. Victor Erie, that were easily dealt with.

After that, he employed some crude psychological tactics, using a combination of a homegrown version of sodium pentothal and an even cruder version of hypnosis that eventually managed to get him valuable, if not priceless, information on his newest foe. His captive had thought his loyalty would be a strong enough shield against him, but he was sadly mistaken.

So this was the key to Bane's victory. This substance, this Venom—he needed to get his hands on some of it. That proved simpler to do than getting Bane's employee to talk. At this point, the mercenary was bound to his will and through him, he had used the same programing he had installed in a certain orderly at Arkham to have this man retrieve him some.

A success, that endeavor was. As it turned out, Bane had begun planting caches of his Venom supply throughout the city, all with the intention to use in case of an emergency should he need it. It was a simple matter to swipe one without anyone noticing. With no further need, but figuring it would be useful to have this latest puppet of his available, he had sent the mercenary back to Bane's fold, memories sealed away but programmed to obey should Strange ever come calling. In the meantime, the professor would be putting his newly obtained chemistry skills to the test.

All that time in Arkham would now be put to use.

This Venom was a complex compound, and it had taken days to unlock its secrets. Strange, however, was not content with it as is. No, he needed to put his mark on it, to improve it, to make it something that was solely his. It wouldn't be long now; he was so close to a breakthrough.

Until then, while he developed this new, Venom-based serum, he would work on another project, one that he intended to combine with this scheme. Together, they would merge and give to him the victory over Bane, that man who had beaten the Batman, and once and for all he, Professor Hugo Strange, would prove that he was indeed the superior mind.

Glancing over to the far wall where there was a mess of fabrics surrounding a manikin—sewing was a natural skill of his that was not widely publicized—he smirked at the, ahem, costume that dressed it. There was something missing from it, something important. A symbol, yes, that was it. And he had one in mind too.

There was only one that would do, and for a man like himself, only the best was worthy. Because only he himself was worthy. Soon, everyone else in this damned city would know this truth.

And then it would be him that they all bowed to.

* * *

"Rule of three, Barbara. Everything comes in threes," Barbara muttered to herself, fingers dancing over the keyboard in front of her.

She already knew about the attack on GCPD HQ, and by the time she had found out, it was too late to send anybody there to intervene. By the time any of the Birds of Prey, or even Nightwing got there, the attackers would be long gone. Sure, she did try to follow the vehicles in which the freed prisoners got into, but they scattered immediately and she found it almost impossible to track them all.

And while trying to track all of them, she ended losing all of them.

Naturally, she had needed details, and wouldn't you know, this was a more targeted attack than a first glance indicated. Only a select number of prisoners were freed, specifically anyone who bore a resemblance to Bane's tactical force of militiamen.

Then other details were spotted, details that reminded her very much of Blackgate. Could it be? Was Bane responsible for freeing all those inmates all those months ago? If so, why? That part she hadn't figured out yet. Still, the similarities were jarring.

But that could wait for later. She needed to make a quick call.

"Nightwing, you heard, right?" she greeted as soon as he picked up.

" _How could I not? Heard the explosions, but couldn't get there in time. Like a snatch and grab._ "

Which he had plenty of experience with. "Yeah, but more organized and I couldn't keep up with them. They're gone and I already have a good guess as to who's responsible."

" _Was it Bane?_ "

"Bane."

Barbara gave a sigh. Even after all this time, they were still reacting to this man. Yet, why wouldn't they? Why wouldn't anyone? This was a man who had beaten a person that they all held up on a pedestal, a person who they could never see falling in a million years. But it was a million and one years and all bets were off. The impossible was possible now and the world as they knew it continued to change.

It was about damn time they began changing with it.

"We may need to step up our plans," she told her walking-able partner. "This...it can't wait anymore and we're not going to save the city at this rate."

" _We need to get ahead for once,_ " Nightwing agreed. " _Yeah, no argument here. How soon can you get it done?_ "

"It's priority number one and I'm working on it as we speak," she answered. The whole time she had not ceased for a second to stop her typing, only slowing down barely when she needed to move the mouse and click on an icon, or bring up a menu. A small window in the bottom left corner of the monitor's screen popped up and she glanced at it for barely a second. "As soon as I'm finished, you'll be the first to know and we can get this powwow started. Oracle over and out."

Nightwing said something in reply, but in the scope of things, it didn't really matter what his exact words were. Just a meaningless goodbye and to make sure she kept him in the loop.

Right now, she had other important matters to deal with. For a moment, she continued working, not speaking at all and appearing to only focus on the glowing screens in front of her. After that moment had passed she finally said, "How long until you say hello?"

"And here I thought I could sneak up on you. Don't let anybody ever tell you your senses have dulled," a young voice answered her.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, and you should really consider the fact I have this entire apartment wired with sensors. I knew the second you came in." Slowing down her typing, Barbara looked over her shoulder and at her guest. "What are you doing here, Tim?"

Leaning against the opened door frame to her Oracle lair was none other than the teen in question. He looked really healthy standing there. A little more tanned than she remembered, but that could be from that California sun. Still, despite her tone, he was a sight for sore eyes.

But also another potential headache, which Tim could definitely be without extenuating circumstances.

Tim decided to get down to business. "I had to come back. Do you know where he is?"

No need to ask who he was. "Ever since he vanished from the Thompkins clinic, no one has seen hide nor hair of him. I don't know how Batgirl did it, but she managed to get a man with some very serious injuries—a special shout out to a broken spine—and make him disappear off the face of the Earth."

Tim didn't hold back the wince. In fact, his grimace was very pronounced. It kinda looked like hers where she first heard the news and naturally that led her to her own back. The thought that Batman would ever be confined to a wheelchair...unthinkable, but not impossible.

Another detail for a changing world.

"How can I help? What do you need me to do?" Tim half-asked, half-demanded as he stood up straighter, no longer leaning against the door frame.

"What I want you to do is get your scrawny butt back to Jump City and stay there. Speaking of which, none of your new buddies are here too, right?" The last thing anyone needed was to pour more gasoline on this bonfire that was Gotham right now and a bunch of teenagers with superpowers looked like freaking napalm to her.

"I managed to convince them to stay while I scouted Gotham first. Naturally, I came straight here when I arrived," the teen replied. "And yes, it was totally harder to talk them down from coming here than it is to say it."

 _Tale as old as time. You're singing to choir right here._

"None of that tells me that you're intending to leave," the wheelchair-bound woman commented, not taking her eyes away from the computer monitor. "You are going to do the smart thing this time around and do what I told you to do, right?"

"What do you think?" And there was the cheeky attitude.

"I swear, you will be the death of me," Barbara groaned, finally stopping in her programming to drop her arms to her sides and look up to the ceiling.

"Yeah, yeah, so tell me: what can I do? Where do you need me? I can team back up with Dick and those newbies if you want," Tim offered.

She was sorely tempted to let him do that...but everything was about to be shaken up. There was going to be a change, one that was sorely needed to handle this situation, so in turn she and everyone else were going to have to adapt to it.

"Actually, you stay put," she stated as she resumed her typing. No rest for the righteous, after all.

There was a second of silence before Tim said so eloquently, "Huh?"

"Big changes are afoot and if you insist on sticking around, then I'll need you close. It's a new age in Gotham and the old ways aren't going to cut it," Barbara continued. "If you're bored, I do have errands you can run and not the crime fighting variety if you're wondering. We're...we can't count on Batman this time, I don't need to tell you why that is. There's no telling if, or when he'll be back, if ever, and the city needs saving now. So it's up to us to do it."

"Care to give someone not in the know a hint? A clue maybe?" Tim asked.

"I'd rather explain this once, but if you're sharp enough, you'll be able to figure out what I'm—and by extension Nightwing—up to. Since you always wanted to play detective, here's your chance to do it. Now if you wouldn't mind, would you be useful and go to the kitchen and whip me up a pot of coffee? The good stuff is in the back of drawer next to the sink. I'll kick your ass if you screw it up," Barbara instructed.

"Any intention on me, you know—"

"You still owe me for all the _favors_ , Tim. All those hours of listening to someone rant about sin for who cares what. Time to pay up, and no, it's not going to be glamorous."

A heartbeat of silence. "You still take it the same way?"

"Damn right I do."

* * *

The penthouse of Jasmine la Tudor was a rather homey place. It was decorated with the finest carpeting, wallpaper, and furniture one could find. She could certainly afford it considering she was one of the premier fashion designers in the world.

So when one needed an outfit, she was naturally the one all the celebrities went to. He was no exception.

The material had to be black; of course it had to be. Nice, tight, and riding right up the crotch. Not just any material would do and it had taken some time to find the right one, but by golly he had found it.

A belt was needed and the man clasped it around his hips. It sat crooked, but that was fine. Looking out to the table in front of him, he began picking up the essentials he would need.

First little pocket: sharp throwing things. You never knew when you wanted to stab someone from afar.

Second little pocket: a remote control. To what, he wasn't quite sure but it looked fancy and he was pretty sure it worked on something.

He paused for a moment before he picked up a rubber bouncy ball. On the table was several little sharp metal stickers, caltrops if he wasn't mistaken—at least, he thought that was the fancy name for them, he was new to this business after all. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the ball down to the table, where it bounced off of it into the air. Quickly, he snatched up as many of the...caldrops? Call flops? Eh, close enough. He snatched up all that he could before the ball landed back on the table again, using his other hand to catch the ball in midair. Quickly, he then pulled out a small pouch and dropped all of the cat drops and ball into it, using the strings to close the opening and then tie the bag to his belt.

That made three. Now onto four. And then five. Before he knew it, the man had filled out his belt, feeling the weight on his hips. However, it wasn't complete, not yet. There was one last thing to add to his arsenal.

A rubber chicken.

Now, one might say that was a rather ridiculous thing to have on one's person, but never, _never_ underestimate the use of a chicken, especially one that was weighted with lead inside it. Finding a place for it on the right side of his belt, the rubber chicken patting against his thigh, the man gave a sharp nod of approval.

That just left one thing: the mask. It was the last thing laying on the table and with trembling hands, he slowly picked it up The mouth was gaping wide open, just like the eye holes. It was an empty face, one that was judging him. The mask weighed heavily in his grasp as he stared at it. Then with a sharp, deep breath, he pulled it on.

At last, his costume was completed. Turning on his heels, he spied a full length mirror in the richly decorated room. Walking to stand in front of it, the man stared at his reflection and admired his work.

He was decked out in head-to-toe black—how chic. A ragged-looking cape hung off his shoulders, completing the all-black look. A colorful assortment of pouches and pockets of various sizes filled out the belt around his hips. On the chest was a crudely-drawn Bat Symbol. It wasn't his best work, but it was passable until he could make a new one.

And on his head, the cowl of the Bat revealed the pale skin and red lips of the Joker, his eyes gleaming through the eye holes. On his head were the copyrighted horns of the Bat, though while one was standing straight up, the other was bent about halfway, looking much like a flopping ear than a horn. He rather liked the effect, however; it gave his costume some character.

Throwing out his arms widely, the Joker spun around and exclaimed, "Well, how do I look?"

His question was directed at a family of four, a mommy, a daddy, and two little tykes that were tied to ornamented chairs with bungee cords, cloth gags forced into their mouths. All of them were staring at him with fearful eyes, trembling at the sight of him.

Yes! _That_ was the exact reaction he had been going for!

If one was to be Batman, they had to strike fear into the hearts of the wicked, and maybe the little people he was trying to protect. Dressing like a giant bat wasn't exactly kid-friendly after all. Still, he did need an opinion on his attire.

Strolling up to la Tudor, the Joker placed an arm on the back of the chair, leaning over the woman as she leaned as far away as she could in the chair, whimpering through the gag in her mouth. "Now be honest, tell me the truth," the pale man prompted her. "Do I look scary? And I mean like Batman-scary."

Immediately, the designer lady frantically nodded her head. "Do you mean that? I look scary?" the Joker asked, his giddiness lacing his tone. Upon seeing more nodding, he let out a laugh. "Ha Ha!"

Then he immediately clamped a hand down on his mouth. No, no, he couldn't laugh. The Batman did not laugh. It was in the manual after all.

Now, he knew what you were thinking. Why would he, the sworn enemy of Batman, be dressing up like him? Well, it was a long story, but he was willing to offer cliff notes. Last month—or the one before that, there wasn't really any way to tell without looking at a calendar—his dear old friend had been beaten to a pulp by some newcomer calling himself Banial.

The Joker shook his head. No, no time for jokes. Bane, the man was Bane. And he had beaten his friend badly. He saw the videos on Youtube, so he knew what he was talking about. Bats was clearly out of the picture for the foreseeable future.

However, that left Gotham without the ever-scowling face of Batman and that simply could not be allowed. There always had to be a man in a batsuit watching over this wasteland of a city and if the #1 guy wasn't up for it, it fell to him, his best man, the #2 guy, to fill in for him. It was the least he could do.

"Well, I must thank you for your time," the Joker said, moving a hand to the designer lady's face, pinching her cheek with a couple fingers. "Next time I need help with my wardrobe, you'll be the first person I call on. Now don't worry, I know how these things usually work, so my people will be in touch with your people. We'll do lunch!"

Turning away, he marched to the window, throwing it up as he placed a booted foot on the windowsill. Now was the time for him to leap out into the night, swinging on a thin rope to fight crime. The dark sky was lovely from here, the lights of the city lighting up the street far below.

Far...far below…

 _Hmm..._

"I think I'll take the stairs," Joker said to no one as he moved away from the window, passing right by the la Tudor family. He stopped once he got to the doors, thinking he had needed to vanish into thin air like Batsy before him. Probably would have helped if he hadn't told the la Tudors he was leaving already.

Well, he could do that next time. "And don't forget kids, stay in school and don't sniff glue." With a twist of the doorknob, he opened the door and slipped out of the penthouse. While there was a part of him that wanted to make sure his new identity wasn't revealed, he resisted the urge, for you see, he was no longer the Joker.

Look out, Gotham, he was no mere Joker anymore. Criminals beware, he was now the Bat-Joker.

* * *

To Guest: That's assuming she checks in on him. Remember, she was avoiding him for the longest time


	4. The Network

The Commissioner combed his fingers through his whitened hair, still trying to make sense of the numbers.

"We lost about a fifth of our manpower," Sarah told him, reading from one of the hastily drawn-up reports. No one in the precinct had gotten a wink of sleep since the attack, not that anyone was able to at the moment. "The number of the wounded are close to the triple digits. We have fifteen confirmed deaths with the expectation that that number will increase over the next few days, thirty are in critical condition, the rest are receiving medical attention for various bullet wounds, or from blunt force trauma as a result of the detonations."

It need not be said that some of those injured were higher ups. Bullock happened to be one of them, and it was said that he was over at Gotham General right now. How long he would be out was questionable as from what he had seen, his injuries were also of the blunt force trauma variety.

Naturally, nowadays, when you thought of Bullock, Montoya was also a name that soon followed. The Latina detective had been in the holding area when it had been attacked. Gordon didn't know the extent of her injuries, only that she was still alive and also receiving medical treatment.

Two of the people he could depend on were out of duty right now, which made the GCPD feel all the more emptier for it.

"What about the rest of the damages?" he asked after a moment, looking up at his wife. Sarah was disheveled, like most of the officers still in the building, yet was hard at work as the rest of them.

"The scanners in the front were damaged, the bullpen needs to be clean up—it did anyway, but now we have a good excuse to clear out the cobwebs in the corners—"

"Tell it to me straight: Where's the worst of it?"

A pause. "Our jail has been compromised. For the most part, the attackers singled out the new guys, specifically our Spanish-speaking crowd—the ones that we've identified as working with Bane."

Which gave a lot of credence to the claims that the masked man had been here himself. The security footage also backed that up, but it was just another piece to a puzzle that didn't take long to put together.

Bane had come here for his captured men and, for all intents and purposes, he had succeeded. How many he had lost in the process were more than made up by the number he had retrieved.

It's like what his first wife always said: everything comes in threes.

Leaning forward, the Commissioner took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. All of this had to happen after he had ripped the Mayor a new one. The only defense he had was the same one he had used to protect Zorbatos. This could not have come at a worse time and he was expecting a call from Hady at any moment. This was a golden opportunity for a politician to right any and all perceived wrongs.

"We're going to need to shore up our numbers. If we're to be at full force, I'm going to have to suspend all breaks, extend working hours...things the men, and their union, are not going to like," he told Sarah, lowering his hand and replacing his glasses so that he could look her dead in the eye.

However, before Sarah could respond to him, someone else did. "Excuse my language, but fuck the union, Commissioner."

Frowning, Gordon looked over Sarah's shoulder and found a man standing in the doorway. Based on his attire, it was one of the SWAT, his helmet removed to reveal a grizzled-looking man with a handlebar mustache. Something about that mustache was familiar to the Commissioner, and it took him a second to recognize that he had seen it recently.

Last night in fact. This was the SWAT officer who had found him during the shootout.

"We met last night," Gordon stated.

The mustached man nodded. "Sergeant William Petit. Everyone calls me Bill," the man introduced himself.

Petit. Ah yes, he knew that name. This was the captain of the SWAT team, Branden's successor. From what he had heard, Petit here had a reputation for being one of the first to jump into any dangerous situation, always resolving it one way or another. Some would call it reckless, but those under his command loved him for it. It was often said that Petit never asked anyone to do something he himself wasn't willing to do. Since he was willing to do everything, he asked a lot of his men.

"What can I do for you, Sergeant?" Gordon asked.

"Not for me, but what you can do for the guys here. The ones still remaining," Petit answered.

Gordon waved the man in, which Petit did, but refused to take a seat, instead standing at attention with his hands behind his back. "Shoot."

"I'll be blunt, Sir, we need to be kicking some ass," Petit said. "We can't let this shit happen and not take any action. We need to give a swift reply that tells everyone that no one fucks with law enforcement and gets away with it. If we show any signs of weakness now, it would be like we were asking for everybody to come at us. The city is going to shit and it needs for us to show that we can handle it."

Blunt indeed. "I thank you for your honesty," Gordon said.

"There is one other thing," Petit added. "Probably more important than showing that whoever this Bane guy thinks he is, we don't need some vigilante to fight our battles for us. We need to show, more than anything, that we're tough enough on our own."

Gordon was successful in hiding a frown. It was the old anti-Batman argument, just with a new phrasing to it. However, the constant images of a badly wounded Batman were like a signal for everyone who had held their tongue since Sgt. Cort fell in the line of duty to start speaking up.

"I need to remind you that last night, it wasn't any of the vigilantes who ran those sons of bitches off. It was us. Fellow cops. We held our ground and we pushed back," Petit pointed out.

Damn if he wasn't right, though. Gordon was more than aware of that fact; there were other vigilantes in the city taking the law into their hands and hoping to live up to the example that Batman put forward to varying degrees of success. And none of them had been here last night; he had been here for it after all. Not a single peep out of them.

Evidence that the vigilante side of this conflict was not one to be counted on.

If you spend too long relying on something, and then it was suddenly taken from you, it was hard to function like you had without it. Except, Gordon had similar experiences like this in the past. He knew what mistakes he had made last time and this time he couldn't afford to repeat them.

To have come so far only to fall back...not an option. However, while Petit made good points, they needed to be...applied carefully. Unlike some people, the police did have limitations, ones enshrined in law. They would need to do their jobs while at the same time not throw away their values and integrity in the process.

"Sergeant, I need for you to give me some numbers. Specifically, how many people are under your command, if they are reserves, and if so, they need to be called in. I'm also going to need the inventory of your armory and anything else you can think of."

Petit stood straighter. "I'll have them on your desk by noon, Commissioner."

Gordon nodded and waited for Petit to leave before turning to Sarah and observing the look on her face.

"What's going through your head, Jim?" the Lieutenant asked.

"We can't lose Gotham, not again," he stated. "Bane hit us when we least expected it; we can only assume that he's going to come for what's left of us when he feels ready. I'm not going to give him that chance. We're not going to wait three years before trying to turn this all around; we start now and stop it in its tracks."

"Be careful. I don't like the sound of this," Sarah said warningly. "There's a lot of ways this can go from bad to worse."

"I know," he sighed, shoulders slumping. "Christ Almighty, I know. But what can I do? What am I supposed to do? My job is to protect this city and I've found myself failing one too many times. I know this is a gamble, but my hands are tied and doing nothing is not an option. If you have any ideas, do let me know about them. In any case, knowing what resources we have is just as important as committing ourselves to any course of action." Squaring his shoulders, he hardened his face and stated, "We have a job to do, so let's see to it, Lieutenant."

* * *

Business was dead. It seemed like that was happening more and more lately. Usually there were rushes and then long periods of a casual shopper or two.

It was going on two weeks without a customer.

Okay, that wasn't counting the online shoppers, which—thank God—were keeping the flower shop afloat. Foot traffic was nonexistent on the other hand. While worrying, it had the fringe benefit of allowing Dinah to catch up on her rest.

Lord knows she needed that.

It had always been a fear, one that was at the back of her mind laying dormant. No one could continuously go out into the night like they did and not risk having their bodies break down. Even the Batman was human, no matter how much evidence he provided to the contrary. Eventually, he would have to step down, retire, or die. On that day, it would be up to the rest of the vigilante community to pick up his slack, fill the void he left in his wake.

Dinah told herself they would be ready for this. It had been a long time since the Great Gotham Fire, when his disappearance left the city in shock. Back then, only one person had been left on the streets and it was clear the job needed more. The Birds of Prey had formed, taking on the lion's share of protecting the city.

They managed to keep the city stagnant back then, never improving it nor letting it slip into the abyss. Treading water was a good metaphor for it.

Now they were drowning, a two ton weight tied to their legs and dragging them deeper and deeper under the surface. The Birds weren't enough; the Batclan wasn't enough; Huntress wasn't enough.

There had been dark times before this. There had been times where it felt like Gotham was getting lost to the violence and bloodshed that seemed to infest it. Yet, Batman had been there, ever present, ever steady, helping to end each and every crisis and return Gotham closer and closer to normalcy—or at least as normal as Gotham could get.

The bell above the door rang, shaking Dinah out of her reverie. She was staring down at a magazine on the front counter, perched on her usual seat. She was pretty certain she hadn't turned a page in a long while. There was something familiar about the picture of...whatever Hollywood celeb that was. That and the page number, 39, was lingering before her eyes. "How can I help you?" she asked without looking up.

"Hey there, Pretty Bird."

Immediately, the blonde's head whipped up, eyes wide as she stared at the dapper sight of Oliver Queen. There was a gentle smile on his handsome face.

God, was he a sight for sore eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she couldn't help but ask.

Ollie sauntered up to the counter, hands buried in the pockets of his dark green trench coat. "You, mostly," he answered her, coming to stand in front of her. He lost his smile as a stern look appeared on his face. "You need help."

"Everyone needs help," Dinah replied as her shoulders slumped. "I guess it's not a surprise that you know what's going on."

"Anyone with eyes in their heads knows and even then I'm certain blind people know by now." The blond man pulled a hand out of his pocket and rested his forearm on the countertop so that he could lean against it. "Deaf people too have heard about it, if you can believe that."

"I'm certain there's a Helen Keller joke coming."

"You would think so, but I think that's in poor taste."

"So you're what, trying to help out Gotham? What about Star City?"

Ollie gave her a look. "There's nothing going down in Star City like there is here. I'm certain I can spare some time to help you guys out here."

"How much time?" she retorted as she leaned back on her stool, crossing her arms over her chest. "You in for the long haul?"

"As long as I'm needed."

"That could be months—maybe even years."

"I really doubt it'll be that long."

Dinah raised an eyebrow. "You were here for Two-Face, remember? That wasn't an easy, cut-and-dry case. If that Icosidron stuff you were working on with Wayne wasn't taking so long, I know you wouldn't have stayed."

The blond man raised his other hand and pressed it to his chest. "You wound me, Pretty Bird, you wound me. I'd like to think I would've stayed around to help."

"And if you weren't in town for Wayne?"

"Then I probably wouldn't have met you and I find that to be a crime in and of itself."

She couldn't help it; a smile tugged at her lips. "Good answer," she murmured before she raised a hand up, running it through her hair. "Thanks for coming, Ollie. I mean it."

A coy smile appeared on his face. "Anything for you."

That was when Dinah's cell phone went off. The ringer was on, so the obnoxious ringtone ruined the moment, causing the blonde woman to feel slightly irritated. "Just a second," she grumbled as she picked up the phone, frowning slightly at the PRIVATE CALLER on the caller ID. Answering it, she greeted, "Hello?"

" _Black Canary, this is Oracle."_

Alarms went off in Dinah's head as her back went ramrod straight. How did they get this number? "I think you have a wrong number," she said slowly.

" _Relax, I got the number from one of the Birds. They said this would be the quickest way to get a hold of you at your day job,"_ Oracle told her. " _Listen, I'm calling everyone. It's time we met up to handle this Bane crisis. Meet everyone at the Bat Bunker in the Bowery at sundown. You know the one."_

And then the connection was cut off, causing Dinah to slowly pull the phone away from her ear and stare at it owlishly. Faintly, she was aware of Ollie looking at her with concern. "You alright?" he asked.

"It looks like I have a meeting," she said after awhile before lowering her phone, her eyes returning to his. "Wanna join me?"

* * *

The gown was drafty, but Bullock didn't see a need to fix it. He had been given one of the larger sizes, and the damn thing surrounded him like a robe, just with the backside open. Anyone that was searching for a full moon just needed to follow him.

This wing of the hospital was quiet and eerily so. Considering what had happened here, perhaps that was fitting. He wanted to look at it in all of its awfulness.

"Bullock!" a voice shouted, disrupting the discerning calm. The large man didn't bother to turn around. He knew that commanding voice anywhere.

"What do you want, Sarah?" he asked calmly.

Gordon's wife stopped somewhere behind him. Why she was looking for him, he didn't know or care. She should have been at the GCPD fixing the mess that masked gorilla had caused.

 _Pulling back the remains of the chair, Bullock swung it at Bane, only for the bigger lug to catch it with one hand. With a jerk of his beefy arm, he tore the chair out of his hands, leaving him wide open for the punch that slammed into the Lieutenant's chest._

 _Pain exploded throughout his chest, his feet lifting right off the floor as he went flying through the air. Bullock couldn't breath, his lungs having been forcefully deflated from the blow. He hit the wall, a sickening_ snap! _reaching his ears as more pain seared into his arm._

It had been one hit—one measly hit—and here he was, a patient in Gotham General. His arm had been broken in three places from hitting the wall; he had been told it was the angle his arm had been at when he had crashed—made sense to him. His ribs were also fractured in multiple places too. The x-ray had shown a near-perfect spider's web spreading out from his sternum, right where Bane had hit him. It would take months before he could breath without feeling like his chest was on fire.

Taking one such breath as he ignored the sling strap digging into the side and back of his neck, Bullock continued staring at the hallway in front of him. "What's wrong, Harvey?" Sarah asked him, concern in her voice. "You don't ever call me by my name."

The dark-haired man took a moment before answering. "Look at all this. Look at it. You know what this is?"

It was Sarah's turn to be quiet. Not letting her have a chance at answering, he continued, "This is where it went down. This is where the Bat took on that giant freak."

The walls in front of him were ripped and broken, evidence of body parts destroying the sheet rock. Spatters of dry blood stained the walls and floor, though there was no telling who's blood it was without a test. The window at the end of the hall was boarded up, police tape criss-crossing it. There had been a major fight here, one that had been fought with everything each fighter had.

And one had won.

"Two men caused all of this," Bullock explained. "Two men just beating the living shit out of each other and one of them was in the precinct yesterday." He finally turned his head, finding Gordon's redhead looking at him. "This is a monster we're facing."

"One we will beat," Sarah said firmly.

"How? He just ripped us a new one. How many have we lost, Sarah? How many did he bust out of the holding cells? Montoya's in the ICU; I'm busted up; I haven't caught up with Sawyer, so I have no idea about her. This isn't some gang war, or some psycho like the Joker. This is…"

He trailed off. What more could he say? He had already said it; Bane was a monster. He wasn't stupid, or crazy. He knew exactly what he was doing and he was going to get what he wanted, plain and simple.

And as much as he hated to admit it, the Bat...Batman had been their best hope at beating him. No way would he have let Bane march into the precinct without making him suffer. The GCPD had tried to make every inch the guy took bloody, but they lost more ground and more men.

"This is going to be difficult, but not impossible," Sarah told him gentle, stepping towards him and placing a comforting hand on his good arm, which caused him to finally look at her. "But we all need to be together on this. Jim and I need you at the top of your game, Harvey."

Bullock grunted as he glanced down to his busted up arm. "I'm not going to be much use on this one."

"Not right away, but you will when you come back. Take some time, get your head straight, and be ready."

Get his head straight, huh? Bullock turned his head back to the mess in front of him. He didn't like Batman, but he knew the guy was trying to do the right thing. He was one hell of a fighter…

 _He laid there in the street, his body broken and bloodied._

...and his best wasn't good enough.

Maybe Sarah had a point. He sighed. "Alright, alright. You and Gordon better hold on for me, alright? I don't need to come back and half the city is on fire, or something."

It was then he caught sight of something. It was lying on the floor, leaning against a doorway. Staring at it, he had the sense he had seen something like it before—different, but similar.

A moment later and it hit him hard. It was one of the Bat's batarangs, crumpled and twisted, nearly unrecognizable. If that wasn't a sign of how things were, then he didn't know what was.

* * *

The Bat-bunker wasn't anything new. Though it still left plenty in awe, especially the new additions, it was still the brightly-lit room as it was during Two-Face and Black Mask's gang war.

It was surprising that Green Arrow was here though.

Nightwing eyed the Emerald Archer, pretty sure the guy should have been in Star City rather than Gotham. Wasn't his last excursion here a one time thing? He had only gotten cursory looks from the Birds of Prey and Huntress, but that was about it. If they were alright with him being here, then maybe having some extra hands wouldn't be a bad thing.

And speaking of. With a glance to his left, he saw Tim sitting right next to him, his armor updated since the last time he had seen him. According to Barbara, the little punk had come running after hearing what was going down. Never mind there were guys on the streets that could ID him, he was adamant about helping. Dick personally wanted to send him home with a reprimand, but he really couldn't tell him to. That was how dire things were here.

"I think we're all here," Black Canary said as she looked around the table, pausing a second to look over Jason before turning her eyes to Nightwing. "What's this about?"

"I'm not going to beat around the bush," the dark-haired young man stated, seeing that he had the entire attention of the room. "We're getting our asses kicked out there. Bane has a stranglehold on Gotham; last night's attack on the GCPD is only proof of this."

He saw a couple nods from the Birds, his own Batclan keeping their mouths shut. "We have to change. What was working before isn't working anymore. We need new tactics, fresh ideas, and a lot of cooperation between everyone here."

"What makes you think we aren't cooperating with each other?" Manhunter asked as she shifted in her chair. There was an edge in her voice that indicated she had taken a little offense to that.

"Traditionally, the Birds and Batclan have operated separately with a few joint operations between them," Tim spoke up. "Admittedly, the Birds carried most of the load."

"I agree with that," Huntress agreed.

"How about we let 'Wing over here finish what he has to say," Green Arrow interjected then. "If we're to avoid beating around the bush, that is."

"It's simple really," Nightwing said, mentally thanking the archer for his timely suggestion. He hadn't thought the Birds were begrudging them in their vigilante work, but perhaps he had read the room wrong. It wouldn't be the first time. "We need to come together, work together, form an united front.

"I propose we form the Network."

There was silence before Huntress snorted. "The Network?" she questioned, a hint of amusement in her tone. That wasn't the reaction he was hoping for. "Where did you come up with that name? A movie?"

"It's like a network of vigilantes working together," Bluebird spoke up, trying to explain. It wasn't really needed, but points for effort.

"I get it, kid," the purple-clad woman told her. "But really, what makes you think something like that is gonna work?"

"Right now, we have little coordination between us all," Nightwing answered her. "And separately, we haven't done a damn thing to slow down Bane. Ever since he took out Batman, we've all been running around trying to fix what he broke, and all we're doing is putting bandaids on it. The Birds need more information to be effective. The Batclan needs more guidance. Hell, we all need more help than we have right now."

"That's not a bad idea," Black Canary admitted as she leaned back in her chair. "Though I don't see how you have better intel than us."

"We have Oracle," the young man replied. "And I know she has access to your comm links and all, but the Batclan is the only group regularly using her. Imagine having her feeding you live intel; picking up new hot spots; even getting movement on Bane's men."

"That is a valid point," Katana said.

There was a second of silence when Green Arrow spoke up. "I know I'm not one of the regulars here, but I'm willing to lend a hand too. Whatever it takes to help."

Hey, that was one vigilante in the bag, though not the one Nightwing had been expecting. Still, it was something.

"I can't see how this'll hurt, you know, other than having a bunch of untrained kids running on the streets," Huntress said then. What a way to put a damper on the mood too.

That caused Jason to shoot up out of his chair, pushing it back so he could stand, pressing his hands down onto the table. "Hey, I know how to fight," he spat back, seething openly. "You want to try me?"

"Cool it," Bluebird hissed at him, reaching a hand out to pull him back into his seat, though he simply swatted her hand away. "These aren't the people to go guns blazing against."

If Huntress was disturbed by the outburst, she didn't show up. Instead she lazily looked the young man up and down before saying, "I don't think I've seen you before. Who are you?"

Oh, this was going to go south fast. They still hadn't come up with a code name for Jason and Spoiler had been teasing him with a Mr. Hood for some reason. Jason scowled at the purple-clad vigilante from beneath his hood, his domino mask doing nothing to hide his distaste at her dismissive tone. "The name's Hood—Red Hood."

 _Red Hood?_ Well, it definitely needed work, but it would do...for now. In response, Huntress tilted her head to a side so that she could raise an eyebrow at Nightwing, which left him to shrug his shoulders helplessly.

"Okay, Red Hood, I'm sure you think you know how to fight, but if you'll look around the table, so do the rest of us. Most of us have been fighting mobsters, monsters, and assassins for years now, so that gives us quite a bit of experience. We've lost people, been hurt, and nearly died on multiple times. So please, save us the 'I know how to fight' statement, it doesn't really hold much weight."

"What a way to burst someone's ego," Green Arrow muttered lowly to himself.

"You doubt me? C'mon, we'll take this out back. I'll show you what I can do," Red Hood demanded.

"H," Black Canary said warningly, which caused the dark-haired woman to roll her eyes. "Look, Hood, don't take this the wrong way, but you could use more training. We all could to be honest, especially if we want to take on Bane."

"You think I can't take Bane?"

Canary gave him a deadpanned look. "I know you can't. None of us can. Batman was the best fighter out of this entire group, no question. And Bane snapped him in two. You go against Bane and he'll do the same to you. So cool your heels and sit down. This conversation isn't over yet."

Red Hood stared at the blonde woman for several moments before he slowly lowered himself down to take a seat. He grabbed onto the sides of the chair and pulled on it, scooching it up so he could sit closer to the table.

"Well, now that that's over, I guess we should get right to the heart of this," Huntress said as she straightened herself out in her own seat. "Right here, right now, let's put this to a vote: anyone that wants to join this Network, raise your hand."

Amazingly enough, Huntress was the first to put her hand up, despite her digs at the idea. Nightwing had to resist the urge to do a double-look, instead raising his hand up too. Bluebird and Spoiler were raising their hands a split-second after him.

Lazily, Green Arrow added his, Tim doing the same with him. Red Hood looked at all the raised hands before he added his too.

That just left the Birds. The three of them were looking to each other, none of them speaking a word. It was as if they were having a silent conversation among themselves. Then as one, all three women raised their hands.

"Then we're in agreement," Nightwing stated, a sense of relief filling him. Though this wasn't the way he thought this meeting would go, it at least had the result he had been hoping for.

"So what now, fearless leader?" Huntress then asked, directing her question at him.

Leader? Him? Nightwing had to admit, he hadn't been expecting that. He wasn't leadership material despite his running of the Batclan. He had honestly been hoping Huntress, or even Black Canary would take the reins of this. Seeing that everyone was looking to him expectantly, the young man felt he had made a miscalculation somewhere.

 _Uhhh..._

Before he could respond though, a green light flashed down from the ceiling, a holographic projection forming from the top down until the digital face of Oracle was floating at the center of the table. " _I'm glad you asked that,"_ Oracle's voice spoke through speakers around the room. " _We have a lot of work to do and little time to do it in. Let's get to work."_

* * *

To Guest: Knowing Bat-Joker, more than you could possibly imagine


	5. Into The Den

Freedom always came at a price. At least with confinement, you had guaranteed shelter from the elements, a stable source of nutrition, and, depending on behavior, a stable stream of information whether it was through books, or digital means.

The Outside had none of those guarantees as Dr. Jonathan Crane was finding out. Yes, the last few weeks in Arkham had become unbearable, what with "Warden" Sharp hoping to transform it into the next Blackgate. The noise of new prisoners being added to the ranks had given him quite a headache and disturbed him from his studies, the one thing he did when not being subjected to therapy. He may have an, ahem, unhealthy fascination with fear and anything related or involved with it, but he was not crazy.

Though "Warden" Sharp was doing his damnedest to make that a reality.

All of that was in the past, several weeks in fact. None of it helped when it came to where he currently found himself.

That was a rundown apartment complex one step away from being condemned. The floorboards were rotting, the wallpaper was peelings, a hodgepodge of dirt, dust, and cobwebs decorated the place, and it was doing a number on his allergies. And was that...yes, there was a mold problem too.

The only plus was that the place had a view of the city...from a window with a broken latch. That was about it. Oh, the furniture had definitely seen better days, all of which was about to break apart if even the slightest weight was put on them.

Yes, he was moving up in the world from a lonely room in Arkham Asylum to this.

And as if he hadn't fallen far enough, he was broke too. That meant he couldn't afford any of the very uncommon ingredients he needed to whip up a batch of his infamous fear toxin. On top of that, of the very little he had hidden away, he had discovered that like all manufactured materials, the toxin had expired. Thus it was next to useless.

 _Oh, Jonathan. What are you going to do?_

Currently, he rested his body on a dilapidated couch, sinking into the cushions and ignored the groan that came out of it. An arm was propped up on the back of the couch, his hand pressed against his head as he peered at the window and to the city beyond it.

Look at it. By all accounts it was ripe for fear, filled to the brim with it. The defeat of the Batman, the terror of Bane, all of that fed into the panic of the public, and there was nothing he could do to take advantage of any of it. It was both infuriating and depressing.

What was he to do? The only thing he wanted was to know, to understand every single facet of that little emotion, that primal force that was fear itself. But to do that, he needed money, a way to fund his research. It was a stroke of genius when he had developed the toxin, a sure way to induce that fight-or-flight reaction that had kept alive humanity's ancestors for so long. But if he couldn't produce it, or even find some...test subjects, then he was doomed to obscurity.

Those simple-minded twits at the University didn't have the vision, or the courage to see his research to the end. The benefits to humanity would be enormous. Cowards, the lot of them. Sometimes a few had to suffer for the benefit of the many. If only...if _only_...but it was a useless exercise of fantasy. He was powerless to act on…

 _What the…?_

Filled with contempt, Crane had looked away from the window, the city taunting him from beyond, and had turned his gaze to the opposing wall when from the corner of his eye he had detected movement. Frowning, he shifted in his seat and turned his head further to get a better look at what had attracted his attention.

It was...smoke. Oh perfect, was the building on fire too? How grand. He was about to be run out of this place just as he was getting settled in.

Following the smoke, his brow furrowed as he saw that a corner of the room was covered in it. How that had happened without him noticing before, he had no idea—but wait, there was movement. It wasn't only the smoke, there was something in there.

He narrowed his eyes as he stood up from the couch, turning to face the misty phenomenon.

No...no that wasn't something. That was someone, a someone who was emerging from the smoke as if they had been there the whole time. The dark-colors immediately brought Crane back to Arkham, where another figure clad in dark colors loomed over him. His heart immediately began to speed up as adrenaline was released into his system, the beginnings of the fight-or-flight response.

"Dr. Jonathan Crane."

Crane jumped slightly as the deep, ominous voice boomed from the figure. The smoke was beginning to dissipate, revealing the person to be wearing a grey-colored cape that covered their body, a hood over the head where a skull-designed mask peered from beneath.

Any and all thoughts of this being the Batman vanished instantly.

"Who are you?" Crane demanded, even as he took a step back.

The masked...person came to a stop behind the couch, a very imposing figure to say the least. Already, Crane could tell that this was another practitioner, someone who used fear as a weapon, much like the Batman and himself.

The masked person began to speak, "You are the one that created the fear toxin, the same one that Roman Sionis used in Operation Dread, the October 27th Attack."

The psychologist narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What of it?"

Instead of saying more, the masked individual turned their body slightly, their skullesque face looking towards a small, rickety table that was placed next to a wall, two chairs placed at either end of it. Crane followed the intruder's gaze and spotted a rectangular briefcase on the floor, placed next to one of the table's legs. When did that get there?

Eyes darting back to his guest, the masked individual was staring back at him, waiting for him to act. Switching his gaze from the briefcase to that impassive mask, Crane made the tentative decision to investigate. However, he wouldn't let this person out of his sight, not for a second.

Moving around the couch, always keeping his front facing the caped man, Crane retrieved the briefcase, lifting it up off the floor raising an eyebrow at the weight. Placing it on the table and ignoring the groan from the piece of furniture, he unclasped the locks and lifted it up, looking into the case and at its contents.

His eyes widened at the sight of the very thing he had been complaining about before. Those were $100s! Grabbing the briefcase, he lifted it up and turned it over, dumping out every single stack that was inside of it and making a pile of money on the table.

By all that was...this was more than his yearly salary from the University! With this...with this he could... he could begin producing his toxin again! And he wouldn't have to steal the ingredients! Not when he could purchase them legally! Suddenly, he could see so many, many possibilities...

"Do we have a deal, Dr. Crane?"

That voice interrupted his thoughts, Crane turning to look at the cloaked home invader who had not taken a step away from where he had stopped.

Licking his lips, it took a second before the former fear researcher said, "I think we can come to an understanding."

* * *

The Den was a dive bar in the seedier side of Gotham—you know, the east side. Only broken families and shattered dreams lived there. The Den was one of the fixtures of its neighborhood if only for one reason.

A local gang frequented the place. They called themselves the Wolfpack, or something equally ridiculously. That they chose their hangout to be the Den was just asking for someone—a casual observer even—to come and bust them. They were small time really, so small that Batman didn't bother them unless they got full of themselves. Local legend has it that the gang tried to go into narcotic smuggling and were promptly beaten and bloodied by the vicious, manly hands of the Bat. Ever since, they stayed small time: racketeering, neighborhood "protection," drug using, that sort of stuff.

And it was this small-time gang that would prove itself to be the perfect opportunity for an aspiring vigilante to test his wings.

With a quite brutal kick, the doors to the Den swung open. Inside were a bunch of teenage punks and thugs, some of whom probably passed for twenty five despite their birth certificates indicating otherwise. Hmmm, actually, they did look like they were twenty five. Must be the mustaches.

Because of the doors swinging open, all of the blue-clothes youngins were looking right at him, sitting at tables, lounging at the bar, one even leaning over an ancient pinball machine. All of their focus was on him and his dramatic entrance.

The Bat-Joker.

"Greetings, miscreants and misguided youths!" he greet them, his arms extended out as far as he could, holding his cape out to make himself look bigger. "Tonight is your lucky night!" No wait, that didn't sound. "I mean, your _unlucky_ night." Oh yeah, that was better. "Surrender yourselves now, or I won't have to put a whooping on your baby boy bottoms!"

Several of the gangbangers tilted their heads to look at each other—no doubt in fear, though they were disguising it with confusion. Alright, their minds couldn't comprehend the terror in front of them.

"Hey, what's with the screw loose on this cabron?" one of them asked, jabbing their thumb towards him.

"That's right, don't realize the horror that's in store for you."

A few stared at him for a moment before all of them burst out laughing. "What kind of moron is this?!" one of them guffawed.

Bat-Joker lowered his arms slightly, staring befuddled at the sight in front of him. Why were they laughing? He hadn't made a joke. The Bat-Joker didn't joke! So why? He had done everything right. He had made a dramatic entrance—kicking in the door, in case you didn't know—then made a threatening speech with a demand for surrender—just read the above in case you missed it, not that you could.

So what was he forgetting?

Quickly, Bat-Joker wracked his brain for the answer. What did Batman do all those times they had gone up against each other? There was the dramatic entrance, the speech...oh wait! How could he have forgotten! Batsy always knocked out, or pulverized one of the lesser henchmen when he entered a room. Now that he thought about it, that gave a perfect example of what he would do to anyone that fought him.

Jesus, if he didn't have a love/hate relationship with the man, he would've shaken his hand.

Eyeing one of the closer gangbangers, Bat-Joker dropped his arms to his sides and strolled—no, no, marched; the Bat-Joker did not stroll, but moved with determined purpose, like with marching—right up to one of the still-laughing simpletons. Grabbing the back of his bandana-covered head, Bat-Joker's face twisted with unbridled fury as he slammed the kid's face down on the table. Over and over, he bashed the youth's face down until he went limp. Even then, he slammed the boy's face down one more time for good measure.

There, that should make these guys take him seriously.

There was a stunned silence in the bar, all of the gang members staring at him in shock. Then out of nowhere, all of them pulled out their guns, pointing them right at him.

"Well, now that's more like it," Bat-Joker remarked.

"You don't know who you must messed with, dead man," one of them threatened. "Now we're gonna make you pay with what you did to Issac."

"Uh, no, I don't think so," the masked vigilante said. "You see, crime does not pay. I know this from a former life, ya know. Now, it would be in your best interest to put your guns on the ground, put your hands behind your heads, and...uhh, read your Miranda Rights."

There were a few befuddled looks exchanged, but strangely enough no one put their guns down. "Someone put a bullet in him," someone demanded.

"No, wait! Don't!" Bat-Joker exclaimed as he shot both of his hands up, holding them in visible sight. "Hands up, don't shoot?"

You could've heard a pin dropped from the silence after that. "Is he for real?" someone asked.

Bat-Joker dropped his hands down. "No, no, I can't say I am." That's when he reached behind his back before pulling out a stack of dynamite, several sticks that were tied together by metal bands. At their center was a miniature Joker face, the mouth wide open and displaying the number 30, then 29...28…

However, while this was a design of the Joker's, this one had a crudely drawn Bat Symbol on it, marking at the features of the white-faced clown with a black Bat. This was a Bat-Joker bomb now.

"Holy shit, it's a bomb!" one of the punks shouted before everyone burst into activity. All of them went running for the exits, running over each other and squeezing their way out through the doors.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Bat-Joker exclaimed, finding himself completely alone in the bar. He stood there for a moment before he glanced down at the bomb, finding the number 8 on it, then 7.

"Oh crap." He finally remembered just what happened when bombs hit zero. Frantically, Bat-Joker threw the bomb away from his person and spun around, running for the front door. "Take cover!" he shouted as he ran into the street. "Bomb's about to blow!"

A few seconds later, an explosion ripped through the Den, a rush of fire blasting out of the open front door just before the front of the building blew into shreds. The force of the blast slammed into Bat-Joker's back, throwing him off of his feet and sending him crashing to the pavement. The vigilante laid there for a moment, letting out a groan before he turned from his stomach and onto his side.

Well now, that hadn't been pleasant. Looking to the former bar, he could see it ablaze with fire, the roof slowly collapsing in on itself. Breathing heavily, he stared at the sight before he realized what he had just done.

He, the Bat-Joker, had just destroyed the hideout for a notorious, no-good, very bad gang of misfits. He...he was a Bat through and through!

One down, a thousand left to go!

* * *

With his forces shored up, it was time to continue the campaign. While there were losses, those had been anticipated beforehand. That there were so few fell within expectations.

While the GCPD licked their wounds, Bane turned his attention back to North Gotham.

"My sources tell me that this is where the Italians have holed up," Bird reported, tracing a circle with his finger on a map of the city. "This used to be an old union office, before they moved on to bigger and better places, namely downtown. Behind it is an old storehouse, where farmers used to keep feed and farms tools and all the crap. A perfect place to hide an old cache of weapons, if you know what I mean.

"Now across the street, we also need to keep an eye on. That's a restaurant, which is the big reason why that union originally set up shop across from it. Didn't need to walk far to get a bite to eat. They're using it as a lookout and it's in a good position. Got a great view of one end of the street."

"What kind of force will we be dealing with?" Zombie asked.

"All told, about two hundred, which makes me wonder where they found all those schmucks," Bird answered.

A surprising number, a somewhat higher amount than what Bane currently employed. He had no doubt that his Santa Priscan army could handle it; based on the intelligence, this could be a very bloody affair.

He had no issue with bloody. There had been times when he himself had been drenched from head to toe in other people's blood. This was an operation of conquest, and it was just as important to be able to hold territory gained as well as be capable enough to wage war. It was a balance that needed to be kept.

"We will need to reduce their numbers first before we engage," Bane stated, studying the map intently as if searching for the weakness he knew was there. "Zombie, do you have a poison that can kill, or incapacitate in a short amount of time?"

"Within the hour, though the amount I can make will depend," the thin, bald man replied.

"We strike here first," Bane declared, placing his finger on the location of the restaurant. "They are expecting a show of force. That will happen, but not yet. First, we limit the number of men they have by poisoning their food supply."

"The lunch rush will be about noon or so, maybe earlier," Bird added in. "Our eyes in the area report that the little people are keeping away from there, like they know who's hiding out there."

Not that Bane cared about collateral damage, but one could not rule a kingdom if there were no people in it to rule. "It matters not who else is caught up in it. If nothing else, it will serve as a distraction. The men in front will see nothing more than an illness spreading. That is when we attack. The cover of darkness will be necessary. Otherwise, they will see our approach."

"Then we go for the dinner rush. The only people who will be affected will be them," Bird murmured thoughtfully. "That will be sometime after seven, closer to eight."

"What can you prepare in that amount of time?" That question was directed to Zombie.

"Something that can suit our purposes. So long as they exhibit signs of vomiting and sweat, it does not matter what the lethality is. Those not able to fight will be slaughtered when we send our forces in, too indisposed to offer any resistance," Zombie remarked. "It'll be quantity over quality, but it's doable."

"Get to work immediately. In the meantime, I want our forces surrounding the area. We will not allow any of their leaders an opportunity to escape," Bane ordered.

"What do you want to do with them once we capture them?" Bird asked, looking at the bulk of muscle.

Without a second's hesitation to look at his subordinate, the masked man stated, "Who mentioned anything about capture?"

"We're going to kill them. That makes things easier," Bird said, not even batting an eye. "When do you want to strike?"

"Tonight. All eyes are on the police. They are too weak to interfere. We act now, take the element of surprise, and finish this resistance once and for all." Haste was an element, but all who worked for him understood that he did not tolerate any delays not of his own making. A person could rest once they were dead; idleness was not an issue for this army.

"I'll get to work immediately," Zombie said, turning to leave. He was a man who knew what was expected of him and made no excuses.

"I'll—" Bird began only to find himself interrupted.

"I want you to take Talon and survey the area. I want up-to-date intel on the hour, every hour," Bane ordered. "I will organize the men. Notify me if you observe anything that is out of the norm."

"Alright," the blond man nodded.

It wouldn't be long now. One of the last pockets of resistance was about to be purged. There would be smaller ones, no doubt about that, but none that had the power to defy him. By midnight tonight, his grip on this city would be complete.

Gotham would at last belong to Bane.

* * *

There were still details that needed to be hashed out, but for the most part, the establishment of the Network was a success. In all honesty, Barbara had thought that there would be those who resisted, or flat out refused the proposal.

Things had gotten a little tense when the only holdouts had been the Birds of Prey, and in all honesty, they were the ones she had really wanted to get on board. The Batclan had already been accounted for, minus what trouble "Red Hood" literally brought to the table. She was going to have to speak with Nightwing about getting that guy's temper under control.

Otherwise, Huntress agreeing from the get-go had been the biggest surprise. The sudden reappearance of Green Arrow was not to be questioned as he had proven himself quite an asset back when Two-Face was still a threat. That they managed to get one hundred percent consensus was the cherry on top.

But this was all the easy part; the hard part was the initial logistics. It was simple to sell them on the idea of an interconnected network; getting them to buy and stick with it was something else altogether. Oracle had needed to bring her A-game and show them all the advantages of joining this new organization.

Her intel was sound; she was sending them all to North Gotham because if everything was going the way she thought it would, that was where Bane was going to strike next. The large presence of known mobsters, all of the Italian variety, was a huge giveaway that there was a buildup there. Bane had to know about it; it was most likely the reason he hit the GCPD first.

This would be the biggest test.

" _That went better than expected._ " Tim's voice filtered in through the speakers. On a monitor, she had the image of the Bat Bunker where both her old teammates were located. The Birds, Green Arrow, and Huntress were already on their way; the rest of the Batclan was waiting for Nightwing to lead them.

" _I honestly thought someone was going to say no. I'm not going to look this gift horse in the mouth. Oracle?_ " There was the mentioned man himself.

"This is just the start. The Network can fail at anytime, if anyone thinks it's a waste of time. This is when we really sell it," Barbara answered. Turning to another monitor, she spotted two of the Birds, Katana and Manhunter, the pair appearing on screen for barely a second. They were going to be reaching a, ahem, parking spot where they would ditch their motorcycles to go on foot. So far, so good.

" _Do you think this is going to work? I don't think anything like this has ever been tried before_ ," the youngest of the three pressed. " _Let's face it, we've got a lot of personalities here. Some work better with each other than others. Then we have our newbies. And where did you pick up Red Hood? I think that's one of my old costumes he's wearing._ "

" _We don't have a choice, we need to have this work. Also, that's a long story. By the way, what makes you think coming back here was a good idea, Robin?_ "

" _It's Red Robin now._ "

" _Why...why did you name yourself after a restaurant?_ "

" _It was an accident! I totally forgot that place existed!_ "

"Boys, as enthralling as you conversation is, it can wait. We have work to do. Nightwing, you know what you need to do with the Batclan, right?" Barbara interrupted. This was starting to sound like old times, but old times weren't going to save the city from Bane.

" _I'm keeping Red Hood close. His hand-to-hand is the second best of the group_ —"

" _After you, of course._ " Tim, shut up.

"— _but he needs to keep that temper in check. I'm not about to let him be alone with any of the others until that's fixed. Spoiler I want to stick with Robin, excuse me,_ Red Robin _, here and hopefully not serve anyone a Royal Red Robin Burger. If there's anyone I can trust to be on their own, it's Bluebird, but I'd rather all of us stay together. We don't need to be taking too much risk here, not after what happened the last time we got separated."_

" _The only egg I'm going to be putting on anyone's face is yours. I haven't sat on my ass in Jump, ya know, and I've been doing some training of my own. No one will be unmasking me anytime soon_ ," Red Robin retorted.

"The pissing contest can wait until _after_ tonight. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get all my attention on Little Italy. We did promise live intel. Remember, tonight makes or breaks the Network, and I will be damned if we let it happen," Barbara interjected once again, trying to prevent the nostalgic bantering she hadn't known she had missed. Like old times, nostalgia was not going to win this latest war.

" _Don't overexert yourself, Oracle. We're going to need you for the next however long this is,_ " Nightwing cautioned. " _This needs to work. Honestly, it does. If it doesn't, I don't know what we're going to do._ "

" _Then do what a friend of mine would_ ," Red Robin advised.

" _What's that?_ "

" _Turn into a rhino and scream 'Leroy Jenkins' while charging headfirst into the enemy._ "

Even Barbara had to stop and think about the one for a second. Nightwing would unknowingly voice her thoughts about that statement.

" _What?_ "

" _Whatever happens, happens. Make the most of the opportunity you do have._ " And there was Red Robin's point.

"I highly doubt that _Beast Boy_ is an appropriate role model for this," Barbara deadpanned. Long story short, every once in a while, Tim would contact her about his new team's progress, and this shapeshifter he had picked up featured prominently in those reports. Namely, quite a few complaints.

" _I don't know who that is, so you're going to tell me about him later, but we need to get this show on the road. Let's keep our heads in the game, and try to prove to anyone who has doubts about us that we aren't going to be the C-team forever. This is something we've been working towards since the beginning, to prove we are legitimate crime-fighting vigilantes. That we belong on the streets as much as the others._ "

 _Nice motivational speech there, Nightwing._ However, it did hit some points. Those were some legitimate issues for the Batclan and continued to be. Between the three of them, the original founders, they knew their group wasn't highly regarded.

They were leaving that all behind. Huntress, the Birds of Prey, the Batclan, all of them were going to be one now.

But first the trial by fire.

"Make sure to grab those motorcycles when you leave. The others have a head start on you," Barbara recommended.

" _Not even going to ask where you found them. Just going to say thank you for the sweet toys_ ," Red Robin remarked.

Good boy.

"Tonight's the night we begin taking Gotham back. Let's make it count."

* * *

To Guest: But that's too easy. The Joker is, after all, a connoisseur of sophisticated, murderous humor lol


	6. Battle Of North Gotham

The bombing at the Den had been assigned to Sawyer as soon as it had come in. Even though the city was under assault, there were always the opportunists and domestic crimes also needed to be looked into. And she was a detective, so it was still her job to investigate.

Based on statements gathered from eyewitnesses, this didn't appear to be an overly theatrical arson case. Apparently, this place used to be a hangout for a local gang, their name too dumb to be remembered.

But Sawyer was a professional, so she knew they called themselves the Wolfpack. A bunch of nobodies with too much time on their hands who saw themselves as a gang. They were dangerous, yes, but tended to give ground when push came to shove.

So who would target them? Prior to the bombing, it was reported that the gang was running out of the place, like their lives depended on it. They were going to have to find a few of them who had been here and get some answer from them. Unfortunately, because of their ranking on the totem pole, Sawyer had no idea of any of the names of the people she should be looking for.

So until this, it was shifting through the ashes. Not her, or the local beat cops. Forensics was picking through the smouldering mess while everyone else secured and canvased the scene.

Right now, she found she could do with an unapologetic quip from Bullock, or maybe some back and forth with Montoya. Despite being in Gotham for a shorter amount of time than the other two, she had come to find comfort in those detectives. Montoya was very shrewd, detailed oriented, and was what you thought of when it came to detective work. Bullock was everything Sawyer loathed in an officer of the law, but his looks and lack of manners hid his intelligence.

They couldn't be cleared by Gotham General faster.

"Lieutenant Sawyer!" Hm? Oh, one of forensics was trying to get her attention. The nylon jacket gave away that he wasn't an uniformed officers. In one hand, he held an evidence bag, something black held inside of it.

"Talk to me," Sawyer stated, turning all attention to the approaching man.

"Found this in the wreckage. Thought you would need to see it," the man told her as he held up the evidence back. Taking it, Sawyer turned it over, examining it. Thanks to the fire, the object did not have many identifying features.

However, one could make out a face, and there were spots that were still white in color. It was not the color that made her frown, but the facial features. There was what looked like a mouth, but whether it was open or not was hard to tell. Should it be closed, it would appear like this face was smiling. If open, like it was...laughing.

"What are your thoughts?" she looked up, wanting to see if maybe the lab geek—thanks a lot for sticking that in her head, Bullock—might know.

"It's kinda hard to tell, but if I had to guess, it might have been a part of something. I'm betting the bomb itself."

Sawyer raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

"Honestly, you see it once, you know what it is. That would look like a Joker face before the fire was done with it."

That was a name Sawyer had expected to run into sooner rather than later. She had heard the stories, had listened in on some of the veterans' talk about this particular criminal. Unlike back in Metropolis, where law officers would sometimes brag or boast of being involved in the takedown of one of Superman's enemies, none here spoke of the Joker in such terms. At first, she thought it was because no one had apprehended the man except for a certain bat-themed vigilante.

Then Bullock had broken it down for her. The name Joker brought forth uncertainty; the only thing that was certain would be the suffering of the people they knew. A successful capture wasn't a cause of celebration, because it was bittersweet. Because they had to step over the bodies of their blue brothers to do it. To have to endure defeat after defeat until they got lucky.

She had never been face-to-face with him, but she didn't need to be. A couple years ago, a similar face had been worn by the Man of Steel himself. Not even the Angel of Metropolis could emerge unscathed in a fight with this man.

Now, now it was her turn to see the horror for herself. To go through the trial of fire that had burned this city more than once.

Then the radio in her car began to crackle to life. An endless stream of reports to and from dispatch pulled her away from her thoughts. Enough about the Joker, there were shots fired in North Gotham. Handing the evidence bag back to the forensics technician, and issuing an order to get that to HQ as soon as possible, Sawyer directed her attention to what else the radio was saying.

It took a second, but she soon realized that the chatter was talking about multiple reports of gunfire, and not the same incident. Something was going down and it was happening right now.

Reaching down to the floor of her car, she pulled up on a small latch and popped the trunk. If she was going to respond to this, she was going to go in prepared.

* * *

Anthony Bressi was a man who had seen a lot in his time. The rise and fall of crime families, vigilantes, and crazies, and he had outlasted them all. The key was to change when things started changing. Sometimes bigger wasn't better. Sometimes you needed to go small and out-wait everything.

Or you could try to go legit. Also known as Tough Tony, he had become a union boss. So, semi-legit. Everyone knew what he was about, expected he was involved with shady stuff, but did nothing about him. He was even below the radar of the Batman; that was a source of pride if there ever was one.

But times always changed. Sometimes it was subtle, others loud and noisy. Right now, things were loud and noisy and Bressi was unsure of where things were going.

At first.

This Bane guy made his intentions known. This self-made man of Gotham found that everyone was under attack. This invader wanted it all and he had no intention of sharing. Not even he could go under the radar. So when things changed this drastically, one found themselves acting drastically.

Which is why Bressi had answered the call and retreated into North Gotham. H kinda wished he hadn't now, instead choosing to dig a deep hole and wait this thing out. Turns out, the person who had sent out the call, and was turning the Italian neighborhoods into a private kingdom, was another native with a very recognizable name.

This guy was Mario Falcone, son of the Roman, and he was here to remind everyone that the Falcones were not going to fade into memory. The Batman was gone and now was the time for the return of the old way, the good way. Little Mario was going to lead the charge against Bane and show him how they did things here in Gotham. While the prick knew how to rally a bunch of wise guys into thinking they stood a chance, Bressi wasn't too sure himself.

The people who made the most noise tended to be the first to fall. Maybe coming here was a bad mistake.

That maybe would turn into a hell yes when it started getting loud and noisy outside.

Mario was the one to figure out what was happening first. "I'll be a son of a bitch. That bastard's coming for us." Then, brazenly, in a way that no real mob boss ever did, Mario pulled out a gun and cocked it, those who were loyal to him copying him. The ones who were armed were just grunts, hired muscle, and any chance to show what they were made of were eagerly taken.

The old guard, like himself, weren't quick to take out their guns. They had people to do that for them. Bressi, though, had no illusions of what he was going to do. Staying here, while letting Mario brag about himself, was not an option. If Bane was here, he was coming after all of them for one purpose.

To eliminate the competition.

Leaning towards a man on his right, he said lowly so as not to be overheard, "We're leaving." His man looked over at him, questioning, but seeing the older man's expression, nodded.

You didn't last as long as Bressi did by trying to fight everyone.

That was when the faraway booms of explosions could be heard even in here. Someone had brought some firepower and were clearly willing to use it, and he was willing to bet it was the guy attacking. Mario, meanwhile, was yelling out over the noise of the armed men, "We're going to show this fucker who's really in charge. You have Falcone backing you guys, so don't hold back! Drive those bastards from the streets! Better yet, send them all to the morgue! We'll do what that freak couldn't!"

Underestimate the competition at your own peril. Never underestimate an enemy like the Batman.

Bressi was already moving towards the back and to a door. Let everyone think him a coward, he would be the one living. Besides, if everyone died here, there would be no one left to reveal the truth, right? Thanks to doing this, though, he exposed that whatever attack was happening outside, it was already in this building as the sound of gunfire grew exponentially louder. Immediately, Bressi came right back through the doorway.

As one of his men jerked back from being shot, Bressi pulled away while a couple of his remaining men began returning fire.

"We got company!" he yelled, attracting the attention of the rest of the wise guys in here. By then, the automatic fire of the guns Bane's men were using had already turned his men into bloody Swiss Cheese. Not good, and he had liked those two.

"Son of a bitch, trying to shoot us from behind," Little Mario swore.

* * *

" _Alright, folks, I'm in. I have eyes everywhere."_

"Well, that's certainly comforting," Green Arrow said.

It was a war zone, one Oracle assumingly had eyes on. Bane's men had gone in, combat-ready, guns blazing. The mercenaries had struck at three different spots, each one an obvious weak point in the Italians' defenses. The Italians had returned fire promptly, but the drone of machine gun fire was making difficult to determine who was winning.

That was where the Network came in.

There was a plan, one made upon putting actual eyes on what was going on versus digital cameras and satellites and whatever eyes Oracle had shanghaied. With three entry points made courtesy of Bane's men, that meant three strike points.

The Batclan was staying together; they were the most inexperienced and there was safety in numbers. The Birds were pairing up, including Green Lantern. Huntress was going solo and had immediately taken off into the action.

Someone had been hanging around the Bat a little too long.

Black Canary was with Green Arrow. The two had entered at the north entrance to the building where most of the action was taking place. The walls were riddled with bullet holes, the floor covered with the dead bodies of Italian gangsters and mercenaries.

Carefully, Black Canary weaved her way amongst the bodies, Green Arrow following her as he held his bow in front of him, arrow notched and pointed towards the floor. Bullet casing were sprinkled about, their feet stepping on, or incidentally kicking them across the ground.

"Alright, Oracle, where are the baddies?" the blonde vigilante asked, a hand pressed against her ear. If they were going to coordinate with the hacker, they might as well use her.

There was a moment of silence before, " _The hall up ahead and to your right, I see three gunmen. Judging off their wardrobe, I gotta say gangsters."_

Neither vigilante replied. If those men were right up ahead, any further contact would alert them to their presence. Carefully, they made their way to the hallway in question.

By the time they reached it, Italian men appeared right in front of them, holding handguns and turning their heads from side to side. This immediately stopped the moment they saw them. "Holy shit!" one of them exclaimed as he moved his gun to aim at them.

Immediately, Green Arrow reacted, pulling his notched arrow off the bow string, moving the bow out wide while he crossed his arrow-holding hand across his chest and then swiped it back across his body. The end of the arrow collided with the barrel of the gun and knocked it to a side an instant before it went off, the sound of a gunshot blasting through the corridor. Thankfully the bullet missed both vigilantes as it flew right between them.

Black Canary launched herself at the man, slamming a fist into his face, which sent him stumbling to a side. Green Arrow followed it up by leaning back on one leg as he raised up the other, kicking it forward and landing a solid kick to the man's chest, knocking him off his feet and sending him crashing to the floor.

By then, Canary was on one of the other men, keeping her punching hand extended, but bending it at the elbow. Lunging towards her new foe, she rammed her elbow into his face, causing the man to cry out as he jerked backwards, one hand shooting up to his face. Dropping low, the blonde woman kept one leg extended out as she leaned to one side, putting all of her weight on that one bent leg. Swinging her leg, she kicked out her opponent's legs, dropping him to the floor, where the back of his head collided with the corner of the wall, knocking him out before he hit the floor.

By then, Arrow had notched his arrow back to his bow and fired it, sending the bolt right into the gun barrel of the last standing gangster's gun. The gangster didn't realize this, or failed to see the green arrow shaft sticking out of his gun as he squeezed the trigger. Instantly, the weapon backfired, exploding in the man's hand as he screamed in pain, quickly snatching his now-injured hand back as he gripped it with his other one.

Seeing the opening, Black Canary shot up onto her feet and rushed at him, jumping up at the last moment as she extended one leg out, her body leaning backwards. Her foot slammed into the side of the screaming man's face, knocking him off his feet and sending him crashing headfirst into the wall. He fell into a heap on the floor even as the blonde woman landed on her feet at the same time.

Eyeing the fallen man, she then turned to find her fellow blond vigilante standing behind her, his hands grasping his bow at one end, and swinging it low like a golf club. The bow cracked against the side of the face of the first gunman they had attacked, knocking him out cold.

"That's three down," the Emerald Archer commented as he moved his hands back to their usual spot on the bow. "Who's next?"

"Oracle?" Canary immediately responded, a hand pressing against the button on her comm link to connect with the hacker. "Where's the next group of baddies?"

* * *

There was a rabidness in Katana that wasn't always obvious. She was a calm, cool customer, always professional in the field and rarely let her emotions get the best of her.

From Manhunter's perspective, she was letting a bit out.

There was no one more proficient with a sword than her. On the Gotham riff-raft, she always went for non-life threatening cuts. Weapons would be cleanly sliced in two, shallow cuts would be delivered to arms and legs, and occasionally the sword would be used in interrogations.

None of that was going on here. As the Asian woman darted between two of Bane's mercenaries, she swung her sword from one side to the other, timing it perfectly to cut both men with one swing. The sword slashed into the side of the man on her left, blood bubbling out the moment the blade slid out of the man. Arching out, the sword began its return to Katana, slicing into the man on her right's chest. Immediately, both men dropped their weapons as their hands clutched at the sword slashes in their bodies.

Katana wasn't finished, however. Using the momentum from her sword swing, she leapt into the air as she continued to spin, swinging out a leg and timing it perfectly so that the heel of her foot collided with the side of the leftmost merc's head, knocking him out cold as he immediately dropped. Much like her sword swing, the red-and-yellow-clad woman continued her spin as her swinging kick slammed into the other man, sending him crashing into the wall next to him. Like his friend, he dropped to the floor unconscious.

By the time Katana had landed, Manhunter had completed her own awesome maneuver of using her bo staff as a pole vault, sticking one end onto the floor and hauling her body up into the air, launching herself feet first into the face of the last merc standing. He was immediately thrown backwards, slamming hard into wall behind him, and dropping into a heap on the floor.

Landing, Manhunter only paid enough attention to make sure that there were no more immediate threats before she looked to her friend. "You're cutting those guys a little close to the bone there," she commented.

"Nothing vitals," the Asian woman shrugged off as she knelt down and cleaned her blade of blood with the pant leg of one of her fallen foes. "The body armor will provide enough pressure to slow the bleeding. They'll be lacking energy, but that is a common result of blood loss."

"Just be careful with that thing. We don't want anyone thinking we're crossing the line."

A small smile appeared on Katana's face. "I am always careful."

Well, at least they were clear. Onward then! Moving down the hallway they were in, the two vigilantes headed for a forced left turn at the end of the corridor. This was followed by a quick right and another left, a weird design in the building, but hey, there had to be a reason for it, or so she thought.

The sound of gunfire immediately got their attention. Looks like they found some more baddies. Picking up their pace, the soon reached an open doorway, one that was singed black, probably from some sort of explosive. Peering through the doorway, the two caught sight of two pro-Bane guys as they finished off riddling a few Italians with bullet holes.

They could handle two easily.

Darting into the room, Manhunter led the charge, Katana pulling up next to her a second later. Both leapt into the air, drawing back their respective weapons before they swung them forward. For the brunette, she swung her staff like a bat, slamming it into the side of her merc's head and knocking him clear off his feet. It was a good hit too as she felt her arms vibrate from the force of the blow she had delivered. As for Katana, it seemed she took her words to heart as she held sword with both hands, ramming the butt of the handle into the back of her man's head. The guy cried out as he stumbled forward. Bouncing off the floor, Katana hit the man in the back of the head again with the sword hilt, this time causing him to fall headfirst to the floor, where he didn't so much as twitch.

An alarm went off in Manhunter's head then, just as she caught sight of light flashing off a metal surface, one that was flying through the air with unnatural speed towards her comrade.

And with inhuman speed, Katana spun around on her heels as she sliced with her sword, the clanging sound of steel-on-steel ringing out. A moment later, Manhunter saw a knife clatter on the floor, skidding across it for several feet before it came to a stop. Quickly, the brunette shot her eyes to the source of the thrown knife, the sensation of blood freezing in her veins overwhelming her.

"It seems we meet again," the thin, bald Zombie said coolly, a gun in one hand, his other pulling out another knife. His eyes then slid over to look at Manhunter. "I see you are doing well."

Katana raised her arms up, keeping one at shoulder height as the other crossed her body so that she could grip her sword with both hands, the blade extended out and pointing diagonally to the floor. "As are you," she responded simply.

"This is a situation I will rectify," he informed them as he began to twirl the knife in his hand, belying his skill with the weapon; not that Manhunter needed to know, after all he was the man that had nearly killed her.

"Katana," Manhunter spoke up, earning herself the attention of the room. "You go on ahead; I'll handle this."

Zombie looked amused by her words as he continued to toy with his dagger. "Neither one of you will be leaving this room, I'm afraid."

Katana ignored the man. "Are you sure?" she questioned her, not once looking to the red-clad woman.

"Oh, I'm sure," she replied. "I have a score to settle with this guy and there's too much going on here to keep two of us to just one guy. I'll be fine, don't you worry."

Simultaneously, both women moved. Katana shot off to a side, running right for a wall even as Manhunter ran right for Zombie. Zombie didn't seem the least bit concerned with her approach as he raised his gun and pointed it right for Katana.

However, if he thought he had enough time to squeeze a shot off, he was sorely mistaken. Accelerating, Manhunter held her staff across her body before she swung it upward, arching it before she brought it down, timing it perfectly so that the end of the staff collided with the top of the gun, knocking the barrel down just as her opponent pulled the trigger. The handgun went off, but the shot went right into the floor.

In the meantime, Katana had reached the wall and jumped at it, one foot pressing up against it as her leg bent to absorb the impact. Immediately, she ricocheted off the wall, launching herself up to the ceiling, where she plowed right through the apparently-flimsy ceiling tiles. The one she hit broke like cardboard and the Asian woman disappeared into the roof.

Which left Manhunter with Zombie, just the way she wanted. Like she said, they had a score to settle.

* * *

Why was it now that they decided to start investing in transport? It would have made their early patrols so much easier. Figured it had to happen after he had to leave, but whatever, Red Robin wasn't about to complain too much. Already he could hear the sounds of gunfire as the three bikes closed in. Sounded like the actions was starting already.

"What's the plan?" the teen inquired into his earpiece. The helmet helped to isolate his voice as well as let him hear the answer.

" _Stick together. Take out everyone we come across,_ " came the answer Kinda figured.

"Perhaps a little more detail. Who do we hit first? Go for a sneak attack? Head on?"

" _This isn't rocket science. Knock out everyone who's in our way._ " That was not Nightwing's voice, and was too masculine to be any of the girls. It had to be the new guy, Red Hood.

And why did they now have two guys with the word Red in their names?

" _Oracle? What are we heading for?_ " And Nightwing was looking for some intel. It took a bit before their resident computer hacker answered.

" _Someone's set up a blockade where you're heading. Looks like Bane's men. These won't be like the gangbangers you're used to, so when you hit them, do it hard enough that they don't get up._ "

Huh, sounds like someone was taking a cue from Hood over there. Well, it was the best plan he had heard so far. Tightening his grip on the motorcycle's throttle, he increased his speed, ignoring the arms of his passenger wrapping tighter around his torso. Spoiler better be careful back there, or she might start making it hard for him to breath.

Nightwing, naturally, took point, speeding up ahead of them and making the turn.

And right there, dead ahead, was the barricade. It looked as if someone had pulled as many cars together off the side of the street to make it and were hiding behind them, poking over them to fire out some high-speed lead. Even from here, Red Robin could tell those weren't gangsters using it; it had to be Bane's men.

The masked teen couldn't help but let his lips smirk. Time for some action, and unlike when he was last in Gotham, he had been boning up on his hand-to-hand combat skills. He had to thank Cassie for being willing to be his, ahem, sparring partner. That girl was not one to hold her punches, both metaphorically and literally, so yeah, his technique was on a different level than before.

And these were some volunteers that were about to let him show them off.

Removing one of his hands from his bike's handlebars, he pulled out a—groan—birdarang and readied to throw it. Through his earpiece, he heard Nightwing say, " _Now Bluebird!_ " From behind the older vigilante, the punk-looking masked girl stood up and held what looked like a rifle over her driver' head.

Red Robin was about to say something about it, but before he could, he saw that rifle fire a bolt of electricity that struck the car-based blockade. Thanks to the metal in these vehicles, the entire thing was electrified, and anyone touching them in anyway was having a bad day. Which meant all of Bane's men were hit with a bolt of electricity and were blasted away a moment later.

Well, that was one way to do it. It wasn't as awesome as beating them all of with his fist, but hey, that meant more for everyone else. Hold up, he might have spoken too soon. There were a few of those paramilitary-like guys picking themselves up, looking very stunned but not unconscious.

Time to fix that.

Immediately, he sent the birdarang whirling through the air, striking one of the still conscious guys and finishing the job. To his far left, he saw Nightwing jump off his cycle, simultaneously Bluebird dropping back down into the bike's seat and grabbing the handlebars, cutting the throttle. The older vigilante continued forward, propelled by momentum and struck two guys who were side by side with his feet, and that must have broken a couple sternums there.

He wanted to say "show off," but then the new guy, Red Hood, gunned his bike and jumped off at the last second, rolling on the street while his motorcycle rammed into the last still conscious Bane goon and crashed the poor guy into the car blockade.

Yeah, that guy was not going to be getting up any time soon.

" _Did you see that? Fucking awesome!_ " Red Hood crowed.

" _Hope you didn't break it; that's your ride home,_ " Nightwing retorted.

Bringing his bike to a stop, Red Robin cut the gas and slipped off it. Such a nice ride, but here was where it needed to be left behind. No sense ruining the paint job. "What's the plan?" he called out as he took off his helmet.

"Just like we talked about, Bluebird, get somewhere high and take whatever shots you can. Watch our sixes, 'kay? The rest of us are going in there; take down everyone you find and try not to get killed."

So simple and helpful. Glancing to his passenger, Spoiler, he asked, "You ready?"

"You bet!" is what she said. However, he could have sworn she swallowed, a sign that perhaps she wasn't. Guess it would be best to keep an eye on her.

"Stay close; you watch my back and I'll watch yours," is what he replied, as he turned to begin dashing towards the car blockade, he paused as he caught movement from the corner of his eye. It took a sec, but he spotted what looked like a moving shadow, one moving fast enough that you could miss it if you weren't paying attention.

Instinctively, he looked up into the sky and caught sight of a bird flying overhead. Nothing to be worried about, but for some reason his gut was telling him that there was something about that bird…

"Rob—I mean, Red Robin! Rear in gear!" Nightwing called to him.

Forget about the bird, he'd worry about it later. Right now it was time to kick some ass.

* * *

The roof was quiet despite all the gunfire that was going off throughout the neighborhood. The Italians had done a good job holing up here, turning it into a verifiable fort. They even had guards up here to spot incoming threats.

Key word being had.

Standing over the unconscious form of the fourth guard she had taken out, Huntress gazed at him coolly before turning away. Though it had been a long time, she had known two of the four men she had knocked out since she was a little girl. Family friends that were practically cousins to her and she felt very little for them. It was a stark reminder of how long she had been removed from the family business.

It did get her thinking though; how much of her family was actually here? The Bertinellis, while very much apart of the Italian Family, had not enjoyed the same success as other clans. A lot of that stemmed from one fateful night, when the entire family had been wining and dining, only to have the big, bad, Batman crash the party. The repercussions of that night haunted them, even though all had been sworn to secrecy. Despite that pact, someone had talked, telling others how Batman easily dispatched the guards and how the Bertinellis cowered under the dining table. The Bat even had his back to them all as he interrogated their leader, her father, without worry. The damage had been unimaginable, other families using them as a punchline, a cautionary tale of false bravado and cowardice.

Huntress had drank it up greedily and without shame.

Many had left Gotham after that incident, cowed and shamed. Others had latched onto other families, obviously as grunts since no one would ever give them a position of power, not after that night. Whoever was left would be the gunmen, not the guards, or the men calling the shots.

And whoever they were, they were going to be dead men.

Spying a roof access, Huntress began making her way to it. The Italian leadership would be on the upper floors of the building, of this she had no doubt. Falcone the Roman ran his empire out of the top story of his headquarters; Maroni the Italian had done the same; these upstarts would be no different.

Suddenly, the door to the roof access flung open, revealing a few Italians in the doorway. They were reinforcements, she realized a second later. Fortunately, the men froze as they stared at her dumbly.

Huntress had no such hesitation.

Leaping upward, she grabbed onto the top of the metal door frame, her fingers managing to get enough of a hold to keep her up in the air as she pressed both of her legs together and swung them forward. The bottom of her feet slammed into the face of the first man, knocking him clear off his feet as he went sailing backwards. His friends jerked out of the way, save for one that was too slow to move, the flying man crashing into him. As it turned out, the stairs were right behind him and the two men went tumbling down the stairs, stopping when they collided with the wall on the landing.

Letting go of the door frame, Huntress landed inside of the roof access, the last two men off to her right. Immediately, she swung a fist, slamming it into the face of the closest gunman, causing him to cry out as he went stumbling backwards, both hands clutching at his face. With the same arm, Huntress bent it at the elbow and jerked it to a side, landing the blow to the second man's chest. He too stumble backwards, his back coming into contact with the railing that kept him from falling down to the next set of stairs. Frantically, he shot both of his arms down to grab onto the railing, steadying himself.

Twisting her body, the purple-clad woman reached out with her other hand and grabbed the second man by the front of his shirt. She then yanked on it as hard as she could, which caused the goon to go stumbling forward, passing right by his friend and into the wall in front of him. Withdrawing her hand from her opponent, Huntress again bent it at the elbow, pulling the arm to her body before she jerked it back, her elbow ramming into the back of his head, forcing his forehead to collide with the wall and effectively knock him out.

As that man dropped to a heap on the floor, Huntress put the rest of her attention on the last man standing. By now, the man had removed his hands from his face and was frantically trying to pull out a handgun from its holster at his side.

Leaping towards the railing, Huntress grabbed the top bar with both hands and used it to lift herself off the floor. Legs coiled up to her abdomen, she turned her body to her right side as much as she could before she lashed out with both legs, her feet slamming right into the man's chest and knocking the wind out of him. As he jerked into the corner of the roof access, Huntress landed back on the floor, spinning around while simultaneously throwing a vicious haymaker. Her blow nailed her last foe in the face, this time knocking him out cold as he immediately dropped to the floor.

Letting out a deep sigh, Huntress backed away from the carnage she had unleashed, making her way out of the roof access. There would be plenty of time to go back to it once she made a quick survey of the surrounding area; if there was one thing she had learned from Batman, it was to make sure you always had the high ground. In this case, if there were anymore wise guys positioned on the roofs of the surrounding buildings, she'd eliminate them as threats so that her Network friends wouldn't get shot by a sniper.

Hoisting herself up onto the roof access building, Huntress stood up and began looking at the neighborhood around her, doing her best to ignore just how much of a war zone it looked like. For the most part, she didn't see any more activity on the rooftops, meaning this building was the only one being protected. That meant the Italian Mob Bosses were here.

However, because of her vantage point, she caught sight of movement down below. If she wasn't mistaken, there was a group of mercenaries making a beeline to one of the nearby buildings. However, there was something different about them.

Quickly, Huntress pulled out her pair of binoculars and looked through them. The sight of Hispanic men filled her vision and she slowly moved from one person to another until she found what she was looking for. While all of the men were dressed in black combat fatigues, there was one that wasn't. He was a mountain of a man, a virtual wall of muscle. The mask on his face was a dead giveaway that he wasn't just some special mercenary.

 _Bane._

* * *

These coños didn't know how to fight. Some of them literally stood in one place and fired their weapons without stopping. Others tried to take cover, but their shields were pathetic. They were easy pickings for the disciples of Bane.

They knew how to fight. They controlled the bursts of their machine guns, conserving ammo, but making more lethal shots. Though slow, they pushed back the Gotham gangsters, whose spirits were breaking much like the backs of those who felt their master's knee.

It was only a matter of time until their líder brought this to an end and completed his conquista. That this great man saw fit to allow them to follow and serve him was an honor. Any sacrifice they could make to his name would be worth it.

"¡Empújalos! ¡Empuja a estos perros hacia atrás!" one Santa Priscan cried out as shot a fleeing gangster in the back.

"¡Conseguir un poco de!" another agreed with a war cry, shattering car and store windows with several controlled bursts of bullets.

Yes, it wouldn't be long now. It wouldn't be…

One of the mercenaries paused in his fighting, a peculiar look on his face before he collapsed without warning.

His fall went unnoticed, though a comrade of his suffered a similar fate. With him, though, there was a blur that swept by him. The third man, however, caught a gleam of light in his periphery, and as he turned to face it, something long and made of metal sliced into his body.

A sword slid out of him, the Santa Priscan mercenary opening and closing his mouth as shock took hold of him. That blade, dripping with his blood, swung and removed his head from his shoulders.

His brothers-in-arms would soon suffer a similar fate.

* * *

They were forced back from the meeting room, and for a group of gangsters who considered this their turf, that was very embarrassing. Not for Bressi because living was so much more important. It was obvious by now that it was Bane attacking, and whoever his hired muscle was, they were good. Real good.

Good enough that career criminals, some of whom thought themselves hot stuff like the Bertinellis, were falling apart, practically every man for themselves. You could tell who the real rats were here and only the ones who were truly loyal had your back.

To his surprise, Little Mario's boys were sticking close to him, doing their best to keep the Falcone legacy from doing something stupid.

"These fuckers have no idea who're they're messing with! Get the fuck out of my way! Shoot those goddamn sons of bitches!"

Little Mario was making their jobs all the harder.

Turning to the man beside him, Bressi commented as calmly as he could in the face of this massacre, "I think it's time we get the fuck out of here."

"Where can we go?" the man asked, reloading his gun. The table they were hiding behind wasn't going to last much longer but right now, it was the best cover they had.

"This is life or death; we'll have to make our own way," the union boss retorted. "If we have to make holes in the wall, do it. Otherwise, we're not getting out of here alive."

The other man nodded. What else could be said?

"Get off of me! I'm not leaving until I kill them all! You hear me? All of them!" What the hell was Little Mario screaming about now—oh, his boys were shoving him out an exit. That definitely looked like the kind of place he wanted to be right now. A shame it was all the way across the room.

Wood splinters clipped off the edges of the table and fell onto his head.

"I think we have a way out. Shoot everything we got until we're in the clear," Bressi ordered, getting ready to run as if his life depended on it.

Right now, it did.

* * *

With a swipe of one of his escrima, Nightwing knocked aside the barrel of the military-grade machine gun that only a second before was aimed right at him. With the other, he slammed it against the head of the mercenary holding it, snapping the man's head to a side and dropping him.

Without stopping for a second, the vigilante was lunging towards the next one, doing the same as before and knocking the man's aim off before striking him down. With each hit he landed, electricity flared from the escrima, its voltage upped intentionally so as to speed up the incapacitation of these goons.

He didn't look behind him, knowing that Red Hood was making sure no one was taking potshots at him. There had been a time when he had been concerned that the newest Batclan member wasn't up for something like this, but it seemed like Hood was rising up to the challenge. It seemed like the past few weeks, he had been working on his fighting skills, and had including using throwing projectiles in that training.

While they weren't the explosive kind that Red Robin liked to use, they were still effective in disarming the mercenaries. Red Hood would then go in for the kill, beating his fists into faces and stomachs, though it seemed like he was going out of his way to hurt these guys first before knocking them out.

That meant Hood's skirmishes lasted longer than Nightwings. One thing Bane's goons could do was take a hit. Like the one he was fighting now. Red Hood had decked him hard in the right side of his face, but the mercenary had rolled his head with the blow and lessened its impact. Pulling out a very well-taken care of Bowie knife, the mercenary slashed at the masked former hoodlum, managing to get a cut in the teen's suit.

Hood naturally made a hop backwards, eyeing this killer warily. Spotting how another merc was taking aim at Hood's back, Nightwing thought he could use a little help. Adjusting his grip on his escrima, he threw it like a missile, voltage sparking off its front end as it spun like a football through the air. It went over Hood's shoulder and struck the armed man behind him directly in the face, taking care of him painfully.

The knife-wielding mercenary paused, his body freezing if only for a second as he saw his comrade get taken down. To his credit, Hood took advantage of the hesitation, clapping both his hands on the flat sides of the blade and twisting, disarming the trained killer. The older vigilante widened his eyes as Hood relocated one hand to the knife's handle and then try to use it against the merc.

The merc was quick to grab Hood's arms and stop his own weapon from stabbing him. However, that whole thing turned out to be feint as Hood picked up a foot and jabbed it into the side of the man's knee, forcing the leg to overextend and throw him off balance.

Yanking the blade away, Hood made another stab with it and got the mercenary in his upper right arm. The man gave out a cry, which ended when a vicious punch nailed him in the jaw.

That was a little bit too violent for Nightwing's tastes, but now didn't look like a good time to get on the younger vigilante about it. Later, then.

Meanwhile, across the street, Red Robin and Spoiler were turning out to be a dynamic duo. There was a little bit of pride he felt as he saw the former Robin literally swooping in and dealing some damaging blows to some mobsters, intentionally shoving a man here and there into Spoiler's path, in which the hooded girl would finish the criminal off with a well aim throw to the pavement, or ramming a head into either a parked car, a building, and just now a telephone pole.

Those two were starting to come into their own. He could praise those two later, it was time to get back to work.

A bolt of electricity struck a mercenary further down the street. And Bluebird was in top form tonight too. She was being careful with her shots, not over doing so as to keep these warring criminals off their guard. They were practically done with this street at this point and were getting close to entering the heart of all this madness.

If they kept this up—

—that thought ended abruptly as explosions tore into the street, Red Hood tackling him out of the way of a screaming rocket that tore into a bullet-riddled car.

"They brought fucking bazookas!" Red Hood yelled.

So that's what they were. Quickly, he searched for the other two down on the ground with them. Initially, he couldn't find either Spoiler or Red Robin, until he looked higher up and found that the latter had the former holding on to him while his cape was spreading out impressively into a pair of wings, a trail of smoke following after his feet.

Suddenly, Nightwing felt that Oracle was favoring one of them with the better toys.

From a rooftop, another rocket was fired, and it was going straight for the pair of flying vigilantes. Already taking evasive action, Red Robin twisted the two of them out of the explosive's way, and gliding out of sight, a building blocking them.

Crap. "Spoiler! Red Robin! Talk to me!" he ordered into his earpiece, wincing as another rocket detonated close to his and Hood's current location.

"We got to move!" Red Hood bellowed.

" _We're gonna take the roofs,_ " Red Robin responded at the same time, cutting out as quickly as he had called in.

Lovely.

"Let's go!" he told Hood and scrambled to his feet, darting further down the street, he took a second to pick up the escrima he had thrown earlier and with his younger partner, the two of them pressed further into enemy territory.

* * *

To Guest: Many good questions there. Only time will tell


	7. Your Best Is Not Good Enough

He had thought it was going to be simple. After the rockets launched onto the streets, he and Spoiler would take cover on a roof and regroup. Simple, right? There was just one teeny tiny problem: the guys on the roofs were expecting him.

Bullets whizzed by the pair of teen vigilantes, Red Robin doing his best to make sure A, neither of them were hit, and B, to keep them both up in the air. Spoiler was doing her best to hang on for dear life because, yeah, her life kinda depended on it.

Of course, naturally, when the bullets weren't meeting their marks, out come a few more rocket launchers. Seriously, where did these guys find those things? At this rate, they were going to have to land far away from this war zone and that was something he didn't want to do. Damn, he had spent too much time getting backup from people who could get to him in either a blink of an eye, or take out the guys down below while they were distracted with him. Nope, just mere mortals here.

"Hey Oracle, Spoiler and I could use some back up. We're in a game of air raid and I don't think we're winning," he spoke into his earpiece through gritted teeth. Spoiler's arms wrapped tightly around his neck and one shoulder, but it was making it a little tough to get the right amount of air he needed.

" _Where the...I see you. Looks like Bane wanted the high ground too._ "

Very encouraging.

"Where are the others?" he demanded.

" _I'm getting someone on the way, just keep yourselves alive._ "

 _Easy for you to say._ Hey, wait a sec, the shooting died down. Had he gone up high enough that they couldn't target him? Nah, couldn't be. He was still within range, so what was with the ceasefire?

"TSSSSEEEEERRR!"

"Gah!"

A bird of all things came swooping through the air, leading with its talons wide open. Immediately, Red Robin went into a barrel roll, avoiding the screaming bird as it zoomed right where he had previously been.

Where the hell did that bird come from?! It was practically a brown blur and had it not been for that scream, Red Robin would not have been able to spin the two of them around to dodge those sharp talons.

Frantically, the masked teen tried to find it again, not wanting to lose sight of it. The dark night sky really made that difficult, and only with a few seconds remaining did he find it again, the avian coming for another go.

Jerking to a side at the last moment, Red Robin just barely dodged the bird's attack, the feathers from the bird's wing almost grazed the side of his face. Great, just what they needed, the animal kingdom was coming after them too.

"What's that thing's deal?!" Spoiler exclaimed, squirming and making it harder for him to keep both of them aloft.

"Don't know, but we need to find cover, fast." Looking over his shoulder, Red Robin hardened his facial features. "I'm gonna need you to try and make yourself as small as possible. I'm about to do something really stupid."

He could feel the look she was giving him, but right now they didn't have any other option. Unless she had a better idea, then he would be all ears to hear it.

He flipped them up so that his back was facing the buildings and streets below, Spoiler blocked from sight by both his body and wing-like cape. Then he began decreasing altitude rapidly, bringing the two down to the buildings quickly. He could hear the sounds of gunfire starting up against, bullets whizzing past the two of them once more.

He heard the sounds of something striking the cape, and what a time to find out it was bulletproof. He already had an idea it could, what with testing it out with the powers of his teammates back in Jump. From energy blasts, and fists clad in mystical metal, this cape had taken a lot of punishment. So yeah, he wasn't exactly going into this blind.

There was an agony to it, not knowing how close he was to the actual rooftops. Every second that passed was another that they hadn't crashed yet. It was both relieving and heart pounding at the same time. A sign that they were getting close was that the gunfire was getting louder and louder and louder—

Loud clang-like clunks struck directly against the cape, dead-center. They were rapid and only becoming more and more accurate by the microsecond.

"¡Mierda!"

And they were hitting something, or more likely someone. Red Robin's body jostled and then Spoiler's was gone. For a few seconds, the masked teen's body was stunned, which was not good. Maybe someone up above was looking out for him because no bullets came near him. Forcing his body into action, he rolled off of the mercenary he had landed on top of, and seemingly crushed, making sure to cover as much of his body with his cape while crouching low to the roof.

He spotted Spoiler on her stomach, the girl giving a groan. Quickly, he dashed over to cover her with himself, since he was the one with the bulletproof cape, all the while searching for the next threat.

And again, that bird scream. He ducked his head down as low as he could, feeling the air from the wing flaps as the feathered menace tried to claw and tear at him. Where does this thing come from? Well, let's see how it likes this.

Slipping a hand to his utility belt, he pulled out a pellet and threw it as best as he could over his head given his current awkward position. There was a crackling noise, followed by several rapid-sounded pops, and then an angry squawk. That sounded like the bird was flapping away.

Right now, he expected for the gunfire to resume, and waited a bit. There was...nothing? Alright, he would give it a couple seconds.

Aaaand still nothing. Now he was feeling brave—ahem, suicidal—and peeked his head around his cape. To his surprise, he found no one in sight, outside of the guy he and Spoiler had taken out. Where was everyone else? Sure there was still the gunfire from the streets, but none of those were a threat right now.

What was going on?

"Um…"

Looking down, he found Spoiler was looking over her shoulder and up at him. Thanks to the cloth she wore around her mouth, all he could see of her discomfort was her eyes.

"Do you mind...you know...getting off of me?"

Now there was another awkwardness.

* * *

" _We have a problem, guys."_

Those were not words Black Canary wanted to hear.

Pushing the button to the comm link, the blonde vigilante replied, "What's going on, O?"

" _Bane's forces, they've brought bazookas,"_ the hacker immediately responded. " _The Batclan has been separated."_

 _Oh shit._ That was not good news—the bazookas, or the Batclan's separation. The fact they didn't know Bane had that kind of firepower was a mistake on their part. Instead of throwing themselves into this gang war, they should have scouted things out, find out how many men each side had, what kind of heat they were packing—just some sort of intelligence.

"What was their last known location?" Black Canary asked as she began walking, heading back the way she and Green Arrow had come. That way, by the way, was littered with unconscious mercenaries. They had run out of Italians and found a swarm of Bane's men, the men currently enjoying dirt naps.

" _Outside, south side. From what I can gather Red Robin and Spoiler are on the rooftops, dodging gunfire. I see...two in the streets, the other guys. I can't find Bluebird. She's not showing up on any of the cameras."_

"Let the others know," Canary ordered. "Arrow and I are on our way."

* * *

Bluebird pressed her back against the wall, holding her taser gun at the ready.

When she had started this journey of hers to become one of Gotham's vigilantes, she had never thought she'd be here, right on the front lines. Maybe further down the line perhaps, but not this early in her career. She had figured she would've worked on a lot of cases by now, even doing some leg work for Batman himself.

Instead she was here, picking off mobsters and mercenaries alike. She was on her own too, something she was pretty sure was giving Nightwing a heart attack. That couldn't be helped, especially with rockets being fired at them. She had no idea where the others were, but she was damn certain about their objective. She'd take out as many of these bastards as she could.

Edging towards the corner, Bluebird took a deep breath before she spun around it, pointing her taser gun down the hall in front of her. She saw no one, which left her standing there for a moment. Sure no one was coming, she turned her head around, seeing a small hallway that abruptly ended at a boarded up window.

No one was in front, no one behind; time to push forward. Walking down the corridor, the blue-haired vigilante soon reached an intersecting hallway and again pushed her back up against the wall, the corner mere inches away. With a deep breath, she shot around the corner, training the taser gun in front of her.

And abrupt went cold inside.

Lying on the floor were the bodies of men, their blood spattered on the walls, most of it pooling on the floor. One body had been decapitated, its head—oh God, the head was right by her foot! Jumping back from it, Bluebird began frantically looking all over the corridor for whoever had done this. Surely they couldn't have gotten very far.

There was a tremble in her arm, causing it to rattle her weapon. This wasn't the first time she had seen a dead body, or multiple for that matter. She lived in a bad neighborhood for all of her life, so that was damn near normal.

But those people were shot, stabbed, or beaten with bricks. None had been sliced or diced like these guys. Bluebird squinted her eyes as she got a closer look at them. Oh Jesus, these were Bane's guys. These were trained killers.

And there was someone out there better trained and deadlier than they were.

That's when she felt it; there was a presence behind her. Bluebird froze on the spot, resisting the urge to stiffen her body. This had to be the person responsible for this. They were right behind her. The next second would determine if she lived or died.

Rock and roll.

Finger firmly against the trigger, Bluebird spun on her heels, leaning backwards in case her target here took a swipe at her with a knife, or sword, or whatever really sharp object they had. Her taser gun swung through the air, pointing dead ahead, her finger pulling on the trigger.

Katana caught the barrel of the stun gun and pushed it to aside, an electrical blast firing out and striking the wall, singing the sheetrock black.

"Jesus Christ!" Bluebird exclaimed as she backed up a couple steps, heart pounding in her chest. "I almost cooked you alive!"

Katana stared at her for a moment, but that was all the response she gave. Instead, her head tilted slightly before she seemed to glide across the floor, moving around the younger girl and came to kneel next to one of the bodies.

The older woman pressed a hand to the body's shoulder, pushing against it so that she could get a look at one of the wounds on it. "This was caused by a sword," she spoke, eyes narrowing.

"How do…" Bluebird began to ask before she stopped herself. Of course Katana would know what a sword wound looked like; she made them all the time with hers. That thought made her blue-clad girl blink her eyes owlishly as another thought occurred to her. While she knew Katana was good with her sword, surely she knew how to use it to kill someone. Was it possible that she knew how those wounds were caused not because she knew what they looked like, but because she had made them?

"Did you do this?" she asked, her voice a whisper.

If Katana was taken back by the question, she didn't show it. She merely shook her head in the negative. "I did not." She then leaned her head closer to the body, running her finger along the side of a cut. She then held the finger up to her face as she seemed to study it, going so far as to press her finger and thumb together and rub them against each other. "Whoever did though, they coated their swords with poison. I can feel the residue of poisoned tissue."

"Mind running that by me? You know, out of professional curiosity."

"Poison infects the body, including the skin," the red-and-yellow-clad woman told her as she stood up. "The cells are destroyed, which leaves them more like a paste-like substance."

Well, that was good to know. "Do you think they're close by?" she questioned, feeling her unease return.

"Possibly, but these wounds are fresh. Minutes, possibly ten or so ago. You will stay with me until we finish this."

Those words made Bluebird feel a hundred times better. Though she was confident in her abilities and tech, having someone as experienced as Katana watcher her back was insurance like none other. Nightwing knew his stuff, but it was Katana she had first seen in action and it was clear she knew what she was doing.

Besides, she was pretty sure he would agree with hanging around a Bird.

* * *

The knife raced through the air on a collision course with Manhunter's face. It was implausibly fast and made the distance between her and it vanish in span of a heartbeat.

It was pure instinct that allowed Manhunter to twist her wrist and swing an end of her bo staff up, the knife colliding with it an instant later, the tip embedding itself into the weapon. It wasn't the only one either as their were three other daggers sticking out of the staff, two at the opposite end and one closer to the vigilante's hand.

The moment the brunette moved the staff out from her face, her eyes widened even as she jerked to a side. Zombie had appeared right in front of her, stabbing at her face with another of his daggers. The blade passed right by her head by centimeters.

However, if she wanted to counter the thrust, she didn't even try. Instead, she bolted back several steps, even as Zombie gave chase. She had learned early on that the bald man was a damn master with knives, whether that was throwing them, or using them in close combat. Some strands of her hair lay somewhere on the floor from a surprised side slash following a stab to her chest.

It didn't even seem to matter that she was the one with the weapon with the longer reach. You would think that she could keep out of Zombie's blood circle—the area within the man's reach, knife included—with her staff, but no, the guy seemed unfazed by her attempts, always worming his way up close and personal.

Case in point: as Zombie drew his knife back, preparing for another attack, Manhunter suddenly dropped down into a crouch, swiping her staff low to knock the man's feet out from under him. Without hesitation, the bald man shot a foot up and blocked the low sweep with the bottom of his foot. Using his momentum, he turned his block into a stepping motion, using the staff to boost him up into the air while swinging his other leg. The toe of his shoe slammed into Manhunter's face, causing stars to burst into her vision, her head jerking back from the blow.

Fortunately—for her—Zombie flew over her head to land behind her, even as she recovered from the kick. Teeth gritted, she maneuvered her staff with one end extended out in front of her, the other hovering by her hip. Shooting up to stand, she jerked the staff backwards, feeling the blow hit home as the end collided with Zombie's back, the man giving out a startled cry.

Spinning around, Manhunter was ready for another thrown knife, a second later thanking her fortune as Zombie had not retaliated that way. Instead he was twisting around, keeping his knife in front of him, holding it about chest level with the tip pointed towards her. It was a stance to keep her at bay, one she was glad to do.

And then the man changed tactics. See, even though Zombie had been holding a gun upon the start of their fight, he had yet to fire a shot at her. He had been more content with using his daggers and they had been keeping him on top of this fight. Now though, he suddenly pulled his knife hand back while extending the one with the gun in front of him, pointing it at her.

Immediately, Manhunter dove to a side, going into a roll down her back and onto her feet, even as a gunshot rang out. She didn't pay any mind to where the bullet went since it hadn't hit her, but that was only the first shot. As she rolled, she pressed a small button on her bo staff, one that caused the end in front of her to start glowing yellow. By the time she was back on her feet, legs crouched beneath her, she had the staff end pointed right at Zombie.

The bald man must have realized this was not normal—and really how could it ever be considered normal?—as it was his turn to look surprised. A moment later, Manhunter fired an energy blast from her staff, the yellow beam burning its way towards her opponent.

Zombie dove out of the way, the blast racing by him a moment later. The beam ended up colliding with a wall shortly after, an exploding ringing out as the wall was blown apart.

Though it was a miss, the knife-wielding man was for once vulnerable. Spinning her staff in front of her as she changed her dominant grip from her right hand to the left, she left go with her right had as she reached to her belt, pulling out a throwing star. Turning her body so that her profile was facing Zombie, she crossed her right arm over her body before whipping it back across, throwing the star.

Her aim rang true as she watched it spin towards its target. Zombie was on his feet by then, turning to face her when the throwing star collided with his gun-holding hand, knocking it out of his grasp as he gave a yelp of pain.

Immediately, Manhunter took off running at the man, swinging her staff at the last moment, aiming for his head. Unlike the usual thugs she fought, Zombie wasn't so consumed by the pain in his hand to get hit, instantly jerking backwards to avoid the blow. Undeterred by this, Manhunter did a backswing, also missing as Zombie danced out of its reach. Changing tactics, the brunette started thrusting her staff at him, which caused the bald guy to lean from side to side even as he backpedaled.

And then he countered. After avoiding a jab, Zombie shot his free hand up, pushing his forearm up to effectively block any side-sweep she could've performed. Simultaneously, he was thrusting his knife towards the brunette's face.

Again, Manhunter jerked her head to a side, but wasn't fast enough to feel the edge of the blade bite into her check, leaving a long cut in its wake. She hissed from the sharp pain, but didn't let that stop her from dropping her staff altogether. By the time it clattered on the floor, she had both of her hands grabbing onto Zombie's extended arm, one hand on his forearm and the other on his bicep.

Leaning backwards, she pulled on the man's arm, using Zombie's momentum against him as they both fell to the floor. Though Manhunter landed on her back, her attempt to drive her foe's head into the floor failed as the man hit the floor with his shoulders,, squirming his arm out of her grasp as he went into a roll. He was on his feet faster than the vigilante even as she had rolled onto her stomach.

And yet, he still didn't throw his knife at her. That was starting to puzzle her. He had been pretty liberal with his use of throwing knives, now and the time they had first met, so why was he being so conservative?

This hesitation gave Manhunter the time she needed to get back onto her feet, just in time to avoid another stab of the knife. Copying Zombie's earlier move, she moved an arm up to block against a side slash and went for broke, throwing a punch at the bald man's face. Her blow connected and Zombie stumbled back a step from the hit.

Seeing he was open, Manhunter went in for another punch, landing one, then two hits to his side—kidney shots that Zombie definitely felt. He cringed from each blow, actively moving away to get out of her reach.

This gave her a brief respite, one she was more than willing to use. Silently, she cursed she had been cut, especially on her check. Already she was fearing the worst; she remembered the last time she had been cut by his guy. She had ended up locked up in Dr. Thompkins' clinic and that wasn't a place she wanted to be a repeat customer to.

And yet, that had been a dagger coated with poison and Zombie had still thrown it at her. Even now as he recovered, he wasn't trying to throw it. There had to be a reason for it. Going from throwing knives willy-nilly to hanging onto one only; that was was drastic change unless...

Unless he was down to this one knife. That made a ton of sense, actually. Zombie seemed like a guy that bet on sure odds, ones that he was sure he'd one. Throwing knives from a distance kept him safe while putting his opponent on the defensive fit into that mindset. He was bloody accurate too, so he could predict where his target would be.

He had to be on his last one, he just had to be.

"You are skilled," Zombie said then, his tone stoic, devoid of emotion. "Perhaps not at my level, but close."

"Gee, should I take that as a compliment?" she replied sarcastically.

"Unfortunately, I have wasted too much time here." At this, he reached within his suit jacket, pulling out a grenade. "We shall have to revisit this at another, more opportune moment."

With his thumb hooked into the grenade pin, he then pulled it out with practiced ease. He then tossed the grenade underhand at the vigilante, which caused her to bolt, running for the nearest cover. That turned out to be the doorway she had used to enter this room, one she dove through even as the grenade exploded behind her.

The force of the blast rammed into Manhunter, causing her to cry out as she was forced further down the hallway, landing hard on the floor as she skidded across it until she came to a stop. There was a ringing in her ears, one that caused her to wince. Leaning her body so that she could look behind her, she could only see a cloud of smoke wafting through the open doorway. As wishful as she was, she highly doubted the explosion caught Zombie. No doubt he found another way out.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

* * *

Whatever awkwardness that had occurred between the two teen vigilantes didn't last long. When bullets start hitting the area around you, you have to snap out of it and _move_.

It this case, it was Red Robin shielding the pair further with his cape. "You got anything on you to knock guns away!" he shouted at her so he could be heard.

"I got these!" Spoiler answered helpfully, pulling out a couple—Goddamn it—birdarangs.

"Throw them!"

"I don't have that good of aim!"

Now she tells him. "I think there's a guy—" he paused as he did his best to detect which direction the bullets were coming from, and a few happen to strike where his back was, "—directly behind me. Throw'em!"

And Spoiler's arm was doing its best to get around his head and throw the birdarang, drawing her hand back once she had. "I think I got him!" the female told him.

The bullets that pelted his cape said differently. "You missed."

"It's not easy trying to throw around you!"

"Just give me the other one!"

She handed it over to him, and he waited for a lull before snapping into action. For a second, he stopped the current running through the cape so that it wasn't this hard, unyielding shield that impeded movement, and spun around, throwing the projectile with the kind of accuracy he was proud of. He continued to spin and reactivated the cape before gunfire from another direction could take advantage. And it was coming from his left, nice.

"How do you know he's not going to pick it up?" Spoiler asked, and that was certainly a logical question.

"'Cause I know how those things work," Red Robin quipped, picking out the sounds of a man crying out and cursing. "The explosive should have taken care of the rest."

"These things can blow up?!" Spoiler squeaked.

"Only if you activate them. Now I need to think how we're going to deal with the others. Wherever the hell they are."

Pausing, he noticed they were in the middle of a lull. That meant someone was in the middle of reloading, and knowing their luck was probably finishing up. Best to wait for the next one.

Without warning, something hit the side of his cape and pushed with enough force to throw the masked teen off his balance. Spoiler was already twisting and looking up to find one of Bane's men over them, lower his foot back to the roof and his machine gun aimed point blank at her.

Crap, the cape was making it difficult to move around and shutting off the current at this point would make them way more exposed than either of them was comfortable with. Plus, there was no telling if he would have enough time to run the current through it in time to reactivate it.

The man in military fatigues yelled, or said something in Spanish, and it was real easy to tell what he was going to do next. Fortunately, neither of the teens would ever find out how true that would be because a boxing glove stuck the man in the side of the head and sent him down into a crumpled heap. The glove fell down as well, revealing that it was attached to a thin, metal shaft that suspiciously looked like an arrow.

"You kids in one piece? No holes I need to be aware of?" And there was Green Arrow with the quip.

"Yeah, yeah, we're good. Good timing," Red Robin replied.

"Why don't you make that thing go limp? Canary and I got the rest of them," the archer said, looking over to the blonde woman as she came to stand next to him.

Shutting off the electric current, Red Robin did just that. "Thanks for the rescue. Where are we heading next?" he asked as he got up to his feet.

"We're going to stick together and try to regroup," Black Canary stated, putting a little emphasis on the word "we." "This whole thing is a mess." Then she activated her comm link. "Oracle, we got Red Robin and Spoiler. Where do you need us?"

" _If you can start going north, I'm seeing some activity over there. Runners, but we can't let them get away. Odds are, they're going to be chased as well so best to head them off._ "

"We're on it," Green Arrow stated. To the younger vigilantes, "Hope you two are fast. We need to move if we're going to catch up with them."

"Speak for yourself. Bet you'll be eating my dust," the younger vigilante challenged.

"Oh? You think you can beat me?" Red Robin had the impression that the older man was raising an eyebrow at him. "Alright, hope you're willing to let this old man here put you to shame."

Behind him, Black Canary shook her head while Spoiler threw her a look, the kind that only girls gave each other when they saw two guys doing, you know, guy things. As if girl things made any more sense.

"Put it back in your pants, boys, before someone shoots them off," the blonde-haired vigilante stated. Turning to Spoiler, she added, "Let's go and get something done."

"Right!" Spoiler agreed, punching a fist into her hand and following after the Bird.

"Hmm, get the sense we might be in the doghouse here?" Green Arrow asked mildly.

"Probably, but let's not let them get too far ahead." And with that, the teen made chase, intentionally not saying aloud that he was leaving the other vigilante in his dust.

* * *

Mario Falcone was not a happy man. Once all the action had started, his boys had rushed him out of there as quickly as possible, even though what he wanted to be doing was join in with the fighting.

Sometimes the Falcone name was a bad thing. In this case, it meant people were shoving and touching him in ways he did not like being shoved and touched. Plus they were doing a lot of screaming and it was giving him a damn headache.

As some point, though, he found himself all alone and with no one beside him. Well, they had gotten him this far, right? He might as well make sure they didn't die in vain and all.

But this was just a setback, mark his words as a Falcone. Bane might be winning now, but Gotham only belonged to those who had bled for it, who had killed for it. No one had done as much bleeding and killing for it as the Falcones had, and weirdos in capes aside, he was going to get it back.

One way or another.

Bullets struck the brick walls of the alley he was running down, and Mario swore to himself. Those guys couldn't keep those Spanish-speaking freaks busy long enough, could they? Maybe those assholes deserved to die. Good thing he was just getting out of this place and onto an open street.

An open street without any cover to speak of.

Oh shit, there was nowhere to hide out here and try to do a last stand against those punks. No, no, no, he could not die here. Not yet. Not when he hadn't put a bullet in that wrestling reject's head.

Headlights caught his attention as a car was slowly driving down the road. Well, well, well, looks like his luck hadn't given up on him yet. Here was his way to get out of here.

He began waving his arms in the air, calling out to the car, and yes, the heavens were being very good to him now as the vehicle came to a stop, the passenger side door opening. While he would have preferred to drive, a beggar couldn't be a chooser, right? He was taking it. Besides, he had a gun and he could get the driver to step on it quick.

Running over, he slipped around the opened car door and slid into the passenger seat, all the while shouting, "Move, move, move!"

The driver, a man with a pair of glasses that had light reflecting off them and a short, yet thick beard, replied, "As you wish."

Immediately, the car lunged forward. Whoa, this guy could move. He was stepping on it and they were flying down the street. Looks like he didn't need to use his gun yet.

"Man, you're a lifesaver," Mario commented, throwing out a little praise.

"You seem to be in some trouble. Far be it from me to provide some aid. If you don't mind, would you tell me about what is happening?" the driver asked, not in the least bit nervous or afraid. He must have been one of those guys who could be calm in any situation.

"Just a load of shit. Nothing you need to be putting your nose in," Mario retorted, not even minding when the driver drove past a stop sign without stopping. Heh, screw traffic laws.

"You might be right," the driver agreed. "Though, if you don't mind me saying, you look very tense. Perhaps you would like something to relax you."

"What I would like is if you could get me out of town," Mario retorted, turning his head to snap at the driver because he was not in the mood for any chitchat. He had retaliation to plan.

However, he soon found his body freezing up, a syringe needle sticking into his neck while the driver pushed down on the plunger. "There, there, that will relax you," the driver chuckled, and that was not a noise that boded well for the Falcone scion. "Close your eyes and give in. Do not worry, I...wak...er...eep…"

And by then, everything had gone black.

* * *

It had taken some time, but finally Nightwing had found a relatively safe place. He and Red Hood had managed to find a courtyard-looking place. It was surrounded on three sides by two building, an alleyway separating the two on one side. The remaining side was bordered by a street. There were stone seatings that surrounded wood chip bedding with little thin trees growing out from them. There were benches scattered about as well.

It was eerily quiet here, assuming you didn't count the random burst of gunfire, all of which was happening in the buildings. None of it was here, which was the main thing.

That changed fairly quickly.

Out of nowhere, gunfire erupted from somewhere across the street, the bullets hitting the cement walkways around the two vigilantes. "Move! Move!" Nightwing ordered as he put a hand on Red Hood's back, forcing the kid to run as fast as he could. The two ran as small pieces of cement burst into the air around them coupled with clouds of dust. Heading right for a stone seating, the two leapt onto the portion covered in wood chips before diving behind it, putting the miniature garden between them and their shooters.

"This just keeps getting better and better!" Red Hood exclaimed snidely as he crouched behind the stone seating, pieces of wood chips raining down on him as bullets pelted it. "We gotta do something other than letting them run out of bullets!"

"I know, I know," Nightwing retorted, the older man on his elbows and knees. They were in an "out of the frying pan and into the fire" situation. While the dark-haired boy was right, they couldn't wait, but there wasn't really a lot of choices either.

Edging his way to a corner of their stone cover, Nightwing peaked around it, spying several mercenaries walking across the street and entering the courtyard. A few were removing empty magazines and replacing them with new ones while others were firing away. Quickly pulling back behind the cover, Nightwing pulled out a shuriken, waiting a moment to steel his nerves. Taking a deep breath he then swung his arms out from behind his cover and threw the shuriken, pulling his arm back as soon as he could.

There was a yelp of pain, followed by some swearing, or at least what he assumed was swearing. It was said in Spanish, but the dark-haired vigilante was pretty positive those words were swears. He sensed Red Hood moving behind him, almost as if he were trying to stand before jerking himself down. "Nice shot," he said snidely. "You got one of them. Only twenty more to go."

"Well, I don't see you coming up with any big ideas," Nightwing replied. "Unless you can come up with something, keep your opinions to yourself."

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his ankle, causing the older vigilante to turn his head to look at his partner. Red Hood had wide eyes, as if he were trying to listen for something. "Do you hear that?" he whispered.

Nightwing began to focus on his hearing, listening before he came to a conclusion. "They stopped firing."

Immediately, he peeked around his corner and felt his stomach drop. While the mercenaries had stopped their gunfire, it wasn't because they were unconscious—that would be asking for too much. No, the reason was because of a giant hulk, who had appeared out of thin air, and stood in front of the group.

 _Bane._

Nightwing felt his stomach drop, the blood in his veins freezing. This...this was the guy responsible for all of this. The mastermind behind Gotham's current spiral and the sole reason for the fall of Gotham's Dark Knight. He was standing there, bulky arms crossed over a chiseled chest. It was like he was waiting for something.

Or someone.

"You can come out," Bane called out. There was no question who he was talking to. Nightwing glanced to Red Hood, who was looking right at him.

"What do we do?" the younger vigilante hissed.

Honestly, Nightwing wasn't sure. This had to be a trap, it just had to be. The moment they poked their heads out, they'd be shot.

"Come out now, or I will come to you," the hulk added.

"Alright!" Nightwing shouted. "Alright, I'm coming out!"

"Don't do it," Red Hood said. "It's a trick, you idiot."

"What choice do we have?" he responded. Then without further hesitation, Nightwing stood up.

The most surprising thing was there was no gunfire. In fact, all the mercenaries had lowered their weapons, keeping them at the ready, but no longer pointing them in the two vigilantes' direction. Slowly, Nightwing walked out from behind the stone seating, putting himself out in the open.

Apparently, Red Hood noticed the lack of gunfire and he too stood up. Carefully, he stepped out to join the older vigilante. "Children," Bane remarked. "Is this all that Gotham has left to offer?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Red Hood bristled, puffing himself up to look bigger. This, of course, didn't close the gap in size between him and Bane. "You wanna say that again?"

"Shut it, Hood," Nightwing ordered, his tone low and harsh. This caused the younger man to look at him, not the least bit humbled.

"You're just going to let him talk about us like that?" he demanded. "He's looking down on us! We can't let him get away with that! Think about it! We can take this guy down and end this invasion of his, or whatever he's doing."

The street logic aside, Nightwing had to admit that Jason had a good point. If they beat Bane here and now, Gotham would be saved. They could drive him and his men out with their tails tucked between their legs. This could very well be the end.

It was definitely an opportunity he couldn't pass up.

"Listen to me carefully," Nightwing began, not once taking his eyes off of Bane. "I'll handle Bane. You stay out of it."

Red Hood gave him a disbelieving look. "You want me to—how can you ask that? I got into this gig for a chance like this! I'm not gonna sit on the sidelines while you hog all the glory!"

The older vigilante shot him a look. "This isn't about glory, Hood. This is about safety. That guy over there, the one the size of a mountain, he beat the Batman. Last I checked, Batman was the best fighter in the city. You're nowhere ready to take on someone like that. Between the two of us, I stand the best chance. Now you _will_ follow my orders. Got it?"

The dark-haired boy stared at him before he grunted his disapproval. He then crossed his arms over his chest, looking away with a scowl on his face. "Just beat this guy, alright?"

"That's what I'm going to do." With that, Nightwing began walking towards Bane, his hands balled into fists at his side. At the sight of this, Bane dropped his arms to a side, holding his ground as the smaller man approached him.

Picking up his pace, Nightwing was at a full run, rapidly closing the distance between them. A moment later, Bane began to walk towards him, drawing a fist back and throwing it at the last second. Immediately, Nightwing ducked, allowing the blow to go flying over his left shoulder. An instant later, he shot both of his arms up, wrapping them around his opponent's bulkier one. Using his speed and momentum to his advantage, the vigilante pulled down on Bane's arm while swinging both of his legs up, his feet ramming against Bane's chin, causing his head to snap back as he stumbled back a step.

As Nightwing continued to move upwards, his body upside down in mid-air, he suddenly felt Bane's arm twist against his, the larger man's hand suddenly clamping down on his smaller arm. Suddenly, the younger man felt himself be whipped to a side, Bane spinning around in a circle, the circular momentum causing him to lose his grip on his foe's arm. The next thing he knew, Bane had thrown him through the air, the dark-haired vigilante careening through the air until his back crashed against the side of a brick wall.

A choked cry came from his lips as the air in his lungs were forced out, gravity causing him to drop onto the ground, landing on his head and shoulders before collapsing onto his stomach. Good Lord, that hurt! Nightwing coughed as he sought to breathe again, sucking in precious air back into his lungs.

"Look out!" he heard someone cry out. Jerking his head around, Nightwing caught sight of Bane approaching him. Though he wasn't fully recovered, the vigilante force himself onto his feet, spinning around to face the masked man.

That was when Bane planted a foot down on the ground, rearing back as he raised up his other leg. Seeing what was going to happen, Nightwing spun to a side, dodging the kick Bane sent at where he previously stood, his foot colliding with the wall of the building. To his shock, the brick barely withstood the blow, a spider's web of cracks instantly forming as thousands of small pieces chipped off.

Undeterred, Bane brought his foot down even as he threw a punch with his left fist. Again, Nightwing continued to spin, avoiding the blow as it too cracked and shattered solid brick when the fist collided with the wall.

And then Bane performed a sideswipe with his arm, swinging his arm out and delivering a backhand blow to the side of Nightwing's face. Pain exploded throughout his head as he was once again sent flying through the air. It wasn't until his feet touched back on the ground that he began to stop, the young man miraculously managed to stay standing even as he skidded to a stop on the ground.

 _Jesus Christ! What is this guy?!_ rang throughout his mind. He had only been hit twice and both times felt like he had been hit with a sledgehammer. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to further worry what that all meant as Bane came charging at him, arms pumping at his sides with each stride his legs took..

Alright, no more dodging. He needed to get in some hits too. In response, Nightwing began running towards Bane, running at a slight angle to the wall. Jumping, he pressed one foot down on the brick surface and used it to spring higher into the air, extending a leg out as he performed a flying kick.

Bane didn't seem fazed by the approaching kick, immediately jerking to a side to avoid the attack, his body twisting to follow along as the lithe man flew by him. Then with unnatural speed, Bane shot a beefy hand up and grabbed onto the back of Nightwing's neck. Using his momentum against him, Bane continued to spin, throwing the vigilante through the air again, only this time towards the center of the courtyard.

Thankfully, he wasn't out of control when he was thrown and Nightwing managed to land on his feet. He bounced off the ground once so that he could get a better foothold. Mentally, he went over what had happened. Well, to be more precise, he was realizing he wasn't getting anywhere with this fight. Bane had successfully countered everything he had thrown at him so far.

Fine, it was time to take off the kid gloves.

Spinning around, Nightwing pulled out his escrima sticks, giving them a quick twirl in his hands, even as Bane stormed towards him. Hardening his expression, Nightwing went running at his foe, who came to a stop at his change in tactics. Letting out a war cry, he swung his right escrima stick at Bane, who shot an arm up and blocked the stick with his forearm. Undeterred, Nightwing began swinging his other one, receiving another forearm block.

Over and over, Nightwing swung his escrima sticks, right, left, right, left. Each time, Bane blocked them, though he was backing up a step with each successful block, which only caused the vigilante to press forward with each swung he made.

That all changed when after another successful block, Bane reared back again, bringing up his leg and performing another front snap kick. Immediately, Nightwing spun to a side as the leg sailed in front of him. Bringing up his right escrima stick, he then swung it down, landing a hit on top of Bane's knee, which forced it back to the ground. Then with the same arm, Nightwing swung a backhand sweep, one Bane dodged by stepping backwards, leaning as he did so. Undeterred, Nightwing then swung his left escrima stick, aiming for Bane's head.

The masked man dodge again; however, this time he ducked the swinging stick, leaning forward as he stepped forward. The escrima stick flew over his head as the vigilante passed right by him, Bane pivoting on his feet as he straightened out his body. His pivot allowed him to swing another fist, one that slammed right into Nightwing's back.

Again, Nightwing was sent flying, and again he crashed against the same brick wall, only this time it was with his face and chest. He felt the brick surface cracked beneath his body just before he fell to the ground, landing on his back.

This...this was insane. Madness! No wonder Batman had been wrecked by this guy; he was inhuman, insanely fast, and with monstrous strength. Nightwing's body ached and throb from the thrashing he had received so far. His face felt like sandpaper, though that was expected after his face had slammed and rubbed against damaged bricks.

And then two feet slam down by his head, both covered in combats boots. "It seems you have given me your best," Bane's deep voice rumbled above him. Looking up to the man, all he saw was his hand reaching down to him and then wrapping around his neck. Bane then picked him right off the ground single-handedly, the dark-haired vigilante feeling his body twist around until he was facing Bane, his body dangling from his single hand. His escrima sticks laid on the ground, dropped out of his weakened grasp.

"Your best is not good enough."

Nightwing wanted to say something clever; maybe deliver a zinging one-liner right out of an 80's action movie. All he managed to do was groan and cough at the same time.

Bane didn't seem finished with his insulting of him, however. "Your Batman, wounded and exhausted from his battle with the Plant Lady, he managed a better fight then than you have given me at full strength tonight. Before I end your suffering, know that this is what happens to all that oppose Bane."

And then his hand clamped down harder on Nightwing's throat, causing the young man to gag and choke, both his hands weakly moving up to grab at Bane's wrist in a vain attempt to stop being strangled.

That was when he heard a yell, followed by Red Hood swinging some sort of wooden club at the back of Bane's knee, causing him to yelping with pain. The brute dropped to one knee, shaking Nightwing in his grasp.

This gave the vigilante a better look at his young friend's weapon, which turned out to be a broken tree branch, one he no doubt broke off of one of the trees. Pulling it back, he swung it again, hitting Bane against his back. Again, he yanked it back to swing again.

However, as he swung his tree branch, Bane twisted his body around, catching the branch with one hand and stopping it cold. Raising himself to stand once again, subsequently lifting Nightwing up into the air, the dark-haired man felt himself be pulled to a side and the next thing he knew, Bane was spinning around to face Red Hood.

And then threw the older vigilante right at his comrade.

Nightwing's back slammed right into Red Hood, causing both vigilantes to go flying backwards through the air. Hood cried out from the hit, the two sailing through the air until they dropped down to the ground. Red Hood hit first, went sent Nightwing bouncing off of him, skipping around the pavement of the courtyard until he skidded to a stop.

"Oww," he moaned, taking a moment to rest even though his body felt as if he went through a grinder. Slowly, he rolled onto his side, spotting Red Hood lying unconscious on the ground nearby through cracked eyelids.

Of course, that's when he also spotted Bane approaching them. "Attacking an opponent's blind spot," he remarked as he strolled towards them. "Such bravery from someone so young. It will be a shame to have to crush it out of him."

"No…" Nightwing said weakly, even as he reached a hand out, attempting to crawl towards his younger partner. "Stop…"

Bane did come to a stop; however, it was right next to Red Hood. Even from where he laid, Nightwing knew the large man was going to stomp the boy until he was nothing but bloody paste. He couldn't move, couldn't react—he couldn't stop this.

And then a shadow appeared, which caused Bane to hesitate. The masked man suddenly twisted his body around, his head jerking upwards. Nightwing merely tilted his own head to look up, spotting Huntress falling towards the large man, her legs coiled beneath her and her hands at one end of her bo staff, holding it above her head.

"HAAAAAAA!" Huntress roared as she swung her staff down. In response, Bane jumped to a side, dodging the strike as the staff smacked down on the pavement, Huntress' feet touching down an instant later.

Her dark-haired head turned to keep Bane in her sights, her face twisted with anger. Adjusting her grip, she then swung the staff up off the ground and right at her opponent. Shooting both of his hands up, Bane caught the staff with his palms, his beefy fingers wrapping around the weapon.

Immediately, he spun on his heels, pulling on the staff and subsequently yanking Huntress off the ground. Bane spun in a circle, though whatever he was planning to do, it was cut short as Huntress let go of the staff and went flying backwards through the air. She landed on her feet a couple seconds later, one hand crossed over her chest.

The moment she skidded to a stop, she suddenly swung her crossed arm out and across her body. There was a flash of light from what Nightwing was able to detect; Bane too as it turned out as he suddenly moved his arm up, three thin hilt-less knives embedding themselves into his forearm one after the other.

There was a moment where everything stopped. Slowly, Bane rotated his forearm and studied the thin blades in his arm. Then he looked back at Huntress. "You are the woman at the Bat's side," he stated, dropping his arm to his side.

"I'm the woman that's going to kick your ass," the purple-clad woman retorted.

Bane didn't seem affected by her words. Instead he held her staff in front of him gripping it with both hands. It only took a second, but the staff snapped cleanly in two, the masked man tossing both ends away as he jerked his arms to his sides. The two broken pieces clattered on the ground.

"Like your staff, I will snap you in two," Bane promised, beginning to approach the dark-haired woman. Huntress held her ground for a moment, her fists held out in front of her like a boxer. Then she seemed to change her mind as she took off running at Bane, her cape billowing behind her.

Leaping off the ground at the last moment, Huntress held a leg back before swinging it for Bane's head. In turn, the large man raised an arm up, blocking the kick. Bouncing back, Huntress landed, only to immediately lunge at her foe, throwing a fist to his face. With the same arm he had blocked her, Bane merely shifted it from his side to in front of him, stopping the fist with his palm.

Undeterred, Huntress threw her other fist, only for Bane to catch that as well. Suddenly, he lunged forward, ramming his head against the purple-clad vigilante. Huntress cried out as her head jerked back, a blob of blood flying out of her mouth.

That was when Bane adjusted his grip onto her forearms, then yanked them—and her—up into the air. The moment she reached her zenith, Bane then twisted his body to a side and swung Huntress downward, smashing her onto the ground. Turning his body in the other direction, he once more pulled Huntress off the ground, this time throwing her through the air. Nightwing watched the woman careen towards him, hitting the ground again and going into a roll, rolling over and over until she came to a stop near him.

Bane paused as he stared at Huntress, though it was possible he was looking at all three of them—it was hard to tell due to his mask. "This is a disappointment," he grumbled, straightening out his posture. "If this is the last resistance this city can offer, then it is already mine."

Huntress groaned as she shifted on the ground, turning her head to look at the hulk. "I'm not done yet," she seethed.

"Perhaps, but you are done wasting my time." Then Bane deliberately turned his back on them and began walking towards his men. "Finish them," he ordered as he passed by them, not even pausing to stop.

The men looked to each other, many of them smirking. Collectively, they raised their guns and slowly approached the three vigilantes. "Looks like we have ourselves some gringos to waste," one of them said.

Before any of them could fire, something hit the ground in front of them, causing them to stop. Looking to it, Nightwing saw an arrow sticking out of the ground, some sort of canister attached to the shaft towards the tip.

Suddenly, a bright light erupted from the arrow, causing everyone looking at it to cry out as their eyes were burned. Nightwing jerked his head away as he squeezed his eyes shut, the normal blackness his eyelids provided turning into a bright, dangerous red.

"Tally ho!"

Nightwing knew that voice and he couldn't have been happier to hear it. When he noticed the redness fade back into black, the young man began to open his eyes, a painful sensation burning into his eyeballs. However, his vision came back in time to see Green Arrow crashing down on top of two...no, three of the mercenaries. At the same time, Red Robin's birdarangs came whirling through the air, striking the hands of a couple of the gunmen, causing them to lose hold of their weapons.

The teen himself came swooping through the air with some sort of glider on his back. Nightwing narrowed his eyes at the sight of it. It seemed someone had been receiving some damn good equipment while leaving his friends high and dry. He was going to have to have a talk with his supplier.

As if that wasn't enough, Katana joined the party, the Asian woman seemingly appearing out of thin air, sword in hand, and slashing at the barrels of the remaining guns. She was a blur of red and yellow as she darted from man to man, cleaving their guns in two before moving to the next.

That was when he heard gunfire go off, but not in front of him—behind. Snapping his head around, there were more of Bane's men. When had they gotten there? The only logical way was they slipped around during his fight with Bane so as to cut off an escape route to that alleyway. Either that or they had used the alley, effectively blocking it either way. Currently though, Black Canary was in midair between two of the men, a fist embedded in the face of one, her legs wrapped around the head and neck of another. She was falling too as she hit the ground, bringing the man in her leg-stranglehold down with her. A blast of blue electricity came down then, striking another gunman. Turning his attention to its source, he found Bluebird up on a rooftop, taking aim and firing another electrical blast. Spoiler was next to her, looking as if she were throwing birdarangs, or throwing stars. He wasn't sure how much luck she was having to be honest.

However, seeing all the other vigilantes getting in on the action, Nightwing felt he needed to keep up his end of things. His body protested as he began to move, forcing himself gingerly up onto his feet. Seeing as Green Arrow, Red Robin, and Katana were handling the majority of the gunmen, that left Black Canary on the ground on her own.

"Hey, take it easy." Tilting his head to a side, he found Manhunter right next to him, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. It seemed as if everyone was coming out of the woodwork. "You look like you've been through hell."

"Well, it wasn't that much fun," he replied to her. "But I have a little juice left in the tank."

"Bad idea," she told him. "Stay here with H and the new kid. We've got this."

Then, as if their conversation was over, Manhunter turned and went to help out Canary, rushing towards the nearest mercenary she could find and slamming her fist into the back of his head.

Nightwing was sure the others could handle this. They were professionals. Yet, there was something inside of him that demanded that he needed to help, regardless if the smart move was to sit tight and let them do the heavy lifting. Gritting his teeth he began trudging towards Black Canary and Manhunter's side. He could take down one, just one. He could do this.

He had to do this.

As luck would have it, one of the gunmen darted right in front of him and Nightwing took that as a sign he was doing the right thing. Jumping, he wrapped his arms around the man's waist, tackling him to the ground. The man cried out as he was tackled, grunting when he hit the ground. Pushing himself up over his target, Nightwing drew back a fist and threw it, slamming it into the mercenary's face. Over and over, he hit the man until he was sure he was unconscious.

Of course, things couldn't be that simple. The next thing he knew, something hit Nightwing against the back of his head, a cry flying out of his mouth as he collapsed to the ground.

A hand then roughly grabbed his shoulder and forced him to turn onto his side. The barrel of a gun was pressed into his forehead. "Okay, Gringo, tell your friends to stop," a Hispanic man ordered him. "Do it, or I paint the ground with your brains."

 _Stupid, stupid! Why didn't you listen, Dick?!_ he cried out in his head. Here he was, damn certain that he was less than one hundred percent, and what did he do? Put himself in a position that he had warned his three trainees never to get themselves in. What a poor example he was making.

Suddenly, the gun was removed from his temple and a gunshot was fired. A moment later and the gun returned. What followed was the sudden quiet that took over the previous commotion of violence. Looking throughout the courtyard, Nightwing could see the others had stopped their fighting, freezing in place where they stood, or laid.

"Okay, you bastards, no fast moves," the mercenary called out, moving to stand by Nightwing's head. His hand then tightened around his upper arm and he began dragging the vigilante across the ground, coming to a stop by the mouth of the alleway. "I think you all know the drill. Any of you so much as move and I put one in your friend's head."

Again, Nightwing felt his arm be pulled out and soon he had been forced into a kneeling position, albeit a wobbly one. Somehow, he ended up facing the mercenary rather than his friends, not that he wanted to. He could only imagine just how worried they looked, or even expressing their annoyance with him.

There was movement, the sound of someone shifting on the ground. "Don't give us that crap," he heard Huntress call out. "Everyone here knows you're going to shoot him and us."

The man glared towards the vigilante before he glanced down to Nightwing. "Well, when she's right, she's right," he admitted to the dark-haired man. A grin best described as evil appeared on his face then. "Might as well get it over with, right, Ese?"

That was when the end of a sword burst through his chest, sending blood splattering all over Nightwing. Both men looked to the sword, blood dripping from its edge before looking back to each other. The mercenary looked shocked while the vigilante was in astonishment.

And then the man was roughly yanked to aside, the sword sliding out of his body as he went tumbling to the ground. Standing right behind where the mercenary had stood was a man in a green cloak. He held a bloody sword in one hand, holding it at shoulder height and to a side. This allowed a visual of a green business suit beneath it.

Steely blue eyes bore into Nightwing, a stern mouth framed by two puffs of dark hair on either side of his chin. It was the same color as the groomed haired on his head, save for the white streaks emerging from his temples and running along the sides of his head. "I see we are not too late," he said, speaking as if he were making a comment about the weather.

As he lowered his sword, one of the mercenaries exclaimed, "He killed Pedro!"

The mysterious man shifted his attention to the speaker. "He will not be the last." Raising up his other hand, he had two fingers extended up, which he rapidly waved.

An odd sound was made, one that was repeated over and over. It honestly sounded like _thwick._ However, when Nightwing turned his head to look behind him, he saw mercenaries seemingly freezing where they stood before they dropped to the ground. Soon, the only people standing were only the vigilantes.

What the hell was going on here?

"I must commend you," the mystery man spoke again, forcing Nightwing to return his attention to him. "It is not often someone risks their own life for the protection of others."

"Thanks?" the dark-haired man responded hesitantly. "Umm, who are you...exactly?"

The man tilted his head back slightly. "I am known as Ra's al Ghul, Mr. Grayson."

The very blood in Nightwing's veins froze. How...what...this man...he knew who he was. And the way he had said his name was so casual. There was no mistaking that he knew.

"You have no need to fret, young man," Ra's al Ghul told him, his voice never once changing in strength or volume. "Your secret, as well as the ones of your compatriots, are safe with me. As for your city, that I must say is another matter."

Finding strength, Nightwing forced himself to stand up on his feet. Already he was getting a bad feeling about this guy despite him saving his life mere moments ago. "What about Gotham?" he demanded. Faintly, he was aware of the others beginning to approach the two of them.

"Do not play coy, it does not suit you. Gotham is under attack by a foe you cannot win against. You have just suffered defeat at his hands."

Well, that was one way to bring up a sore—literally—subject. Nightwing couldn't help the scowl that appeared on his face. "I'm still standing," he responded, resisting the urge to growl. "And there will be another time."

"As commendable as it is, there is only one true guardian of this city and he had been fallen by this same man, this Bane," al Ghul countered. That was when the younger man caught movement over the man's shoulder, his right one to be specific. A large, bald man in red pants and a black vest emerged from the darkness of the alleyway, coming to a stop at its mouth.

"This city is in need of a new guardian,"al Ghul continued, even as someone else appeared, this time over the left shoulder. This one was of a woman and a beautiful one at that. Her dark hair cascaded over half of her face, revealing only one eye.

Yet, she was not alone. One of her hands was resting on the shoulder of a young boy, one dressed in a blue-and-white bodysuit. If it weren't for the woman's hand, Nightwing would've said there was a chip on the boy's shoulder.

"And though I am a poor substitute for the Detective, I intend on upholding his legacy in the way that he was taught." This time, there was movement from all around. It wasn't just the alleyway, but the buildings that created the pathway. Men in head-to-toe bodysuits appeared, round goggles indicating where their eyes were. They seemed to flood out of the alley, along with growing right out of the rooftops, lining their ledges.

"Gotham City will now be under the protection of the Demon's Fang."


	8. WWBD?

The Bat-bunker seemed ominous this time around. There was a weight that crushed down on its occupants, slumping their shoulders, and really making everyone depressed.

It was early morning easily, nearly dawn. The sun would be coming up in the next hour, which meant all of them needed to get back to their lives, if only for daylight hours. A big reason for the late hour was a stop at the Thompkins clinic. Dr. Thompkins had insisted on doing thorough checks on each and everyone of them, seemingly taking forever to bandage the few of them that needed medical attention.

Nightwing was one of those who needed the attention. Currently he was wearing only his pants and domino mask. His torso was bare save for the white bandages wrapped around his abdomen and the scattered dressings on his back, shoulders, and chest. He was one step away from being a mummy.

Huntress had been looked over too, but hadn't needed more than an ice pack to her head, along with being forced to stay awake. She had a mild concussion and was required to be conscious for several hours. Manhunter had been treated for knife cuts, though she was having to call in to work due to the one wound on her face.

Thankfully, there was no real damage to Jason. Just some scraps and bruises, but he'd live. The others were in much better shape.

That just left their pending meeting.

"Well, that sucked," Huntress opened for them.

"Agreed," Red Hood concurred.

"I mean, what the hell happened out there?"

"We got in over our heads," Black Canary responded quietly. "Which is something we need to improve upon."

"Improve how?" Manhunter questioned.

"For starters, we need better intel on what we're going up against," the blonde woman started. "None of us were prepared for the rocket launchers. We also went headfirst against two different sides trying to kill each other. That's fighting two different fronts and we're not ready for that kind of fight."

Nightwing bowed his head at that. He had been so gung-ho for them to go in, he hadn't even thought of the logistics. They had a computer hacker that could supply them with that, so why hadn't he used her better?

"So what, we get a scout now? Have someone search the entire place before we storm it?" Huntress asked. "Or we let Oracle do the searching?"

"That's an idea right there," Green Arrow pointed out.

"Then let me ask you why she wasn't already doing that?" the purple-clad woman shot back. "She was one of the ones advocating for this team-up. Why hadn't she already thought of doing it before? Why hadn't she already found out what we needed to know before we went in?"

 _Because she hadn't thought of it? Because no one else thought of it until now? Because they were all in over their heads?_ All of these answers flooded Nightwing's mind. However, this arguing wasn't getting them anywhere. They were all tired and beaten and had places to be very soon.

"So we adjust," he spoke up, earning himself the attention of the group. "All of us will need to get intel, not just one or two. Yes, there will be someone that gets the bulk of it, but we are all responsible for ourselves and each other."

"Nightwing makes a good point," Katana agreed.

Slowly, Huntress nodded her head. "Okay, I can get behind that."

The dark-haired man shifted in his seat then, leaning forward. "Huntress, you were with the Bat longer than any of us. Maybe you can give us some insights on how he worked. Maybe we can use that for our own benefit."

The purple-clad woman stared at him, her eyes glazed over. Clearly she was considering his words. "He did watch a place before going in," she said then. "He made sure he knew who was where and how many. He didn't go crashing into places unless it was part of the plan."

Nightwing frowned at that. While he had worked with the Bat a few times, it seemed like the guy made things up as he went. When they were crashing nightclubs while trying to find Tim, there had been no hesitation as he broke through windows. And then the Thorne diamond bust, he had changed their plans over and over. Then their attack on Arkham had him leading the charge against the asylum's insane patients.

And yet, they had come out victorious. It was almost like he willed them to succeed. Glancing around the table, the young man wondered if there was anyone here that could do the same thing.

"I guess you could say Canary's right. We need to do better scouting and figure out what we're going into," Huntress finished.

"And perhaps not fighting Bane the first chance we get," Green Arrow added, humor laced in his voice.

"What do you mean not fight him?" Red Hood exclaimed as he looked at the Emerald Archer. "We have to fight him."

"Tell me, what made you think it was a good idea to attack him head on? I'm not sure how good of a fighter you are, kid, but this isn't just some street punk. This is a guy who knows how to fight. You can attest to that since you were one of the ones to fight him." Green Arrow leaned forward, staring down the younger boy. "And he creamed all of you."

"He didn't beat us that badly," Red Hood seethed.

"I guess not, if you consider being knocked out not getting beat badly. Nightwing over there has some cracked ribs and Huntress has a concussion. That isn't adding to the fact that Bane walked away without bothering to finish you off."

"What I think Arrow is trying to say," Black Canary interrupted, shooting a look at the archer before looking right at Red Hood, "is that we're completely unprepared to fight someone of Bane's caliber. For now, we need to avoid a direct confrontation, not until we figure out some kind of weakness."

Red Hood never looked away from Green Arrow, glaring at the blond man. "Fine, if that's how you want to play things," he responded eventually. "As long as that goes for everyone."

"You're not going to see me argue," the green-clad vigilante said.

" _I'm glad we're all in agreement."_

Nightwing perked up at the sound of Oracle's voice coming through the speakers in the room. " _I've been looking into that group you met, the Demon's Fang,"_ the computer hacker informed them, which had the rest of the room's occupants straightening up in their seats.

" _I'm sorry to say, I've got almost nothing."_

"What do you mean you have nothing?!" Huntress exclaimed as she shot out of her chair, forcing its legs to screech against the floor. Her hands pressed down against the table as she leaned forward.

" _I mean there's practically nothing on these guys. I've checked every database I know: CIA, MI6, Mossad, SVR, Interpol_ — _you name it, they have nothing. No one has heard of these guys."_

"So what, does that mean these guys are new or something?" Bluebird suggested as the purple-clad vigilante began lowering herself back into her seat.

That was definitely a possibility, at least until Oracle said, " _Not exactly. See, I did find something. In fact, it was the only thing I could find on them and it came from the GCPD of all people."_

At this, there were many confused looks shared between the vigilantes. A moment later and a light emerged from the center of the table. In the light was a series of photographs, enlarged so that they could all see them clearly.

From what Nightwing could make of it, it looked like some sort of battlefield. There were bodies laying all over the place; however, he could make out two distinct groups. One group was definitely those Demon's Fang guys, dressed in bodysuits from head to toe. The other group, on the other hand, looked just like the old Jokerz gang that had been running around when he first started. Many of the Jokerz had large smiles on their pale faces, looking very much like they had been exposed to Joker Venom.

"Jesus, what is this?" Green Arrow breathed.

" _These are photos taken from a construction site outside of Gotham a few years ago,"_ Oracle informed them. " _According to the date these were obtained, it was right around the time the Joker returned to blow up Gotham again. Clearly they were taken afterwards, but this is literally the only shred of proof these guys exist before tonight."_

"So let me get this straight," Black Canary spoke up. "The only person that knows of these guys...is the Joker."

For a moment, Nightwing wasn't sure how the blonde woman had come to that conclusion until the pieces fell into place for him. Though it was unknown back then, it was revealed that the Joker had been the head of the Jokerz gang. The use of his Joker Venom was his calling card. Put those together and the picture of Joker Venom victims and it suddenly made sense.

"There's no telling where he is either," Huntress added then. "He led that big escape at Arkham recently, so he's running around the streets doing God knows what. And it's not like we can just walk up to him and ask him about the Demon's Fang."

Manhunter ran a hand down her face. "So we're basically at a dead end with this group."

"Not necessarily." This time, everyone turned their attention to Red Robin. "You heard what their leader was saying about Gotham and it's protector, right? The way he was talking, it sounded as if he knew Batman."

"Where did you come up with that?" Red Hood questioned, raising an eyebrow at the other boy.

"Just the way he talked. I mean, he called him the Detective, right? Batman was known as the World's Greatest Detective. Then there was the way he said Detective. It wasn't a sneer, or a put down; there was genuine respect," Red Robin explained.

"So we're talking about a group that has possible ties to Batman," Huntress surmised. "That seems far-fetched to me. Batman never mentioned being part of some weird group to me."

That's when Katana spoke up. "These men, this Demon's Fang, look very much like ninjas. In Japan, ninjas are assassins, so I would not be surprised to discover that these men are assassins."

"And that has what to do with Batman?" Manhunter asked.

"Batman has a fighting style that is similar to an assassin," she answered. "Though I have observed he has toned down on those techniques, it was very noticeable upon his return to Gotham."

Okay, there was a something rotten here. A group of ninjas who claimed to know of Batman and their only documented appearance was around the time Batman returned from his hiatus. There was too much coincidence here.

"It seems we've stumbled right into a genuine mystery," Green Arrow summed up as he leaned back into his seat.

"One that will have to wait until tonight." At this Black Canary stood up. "We all have day jobs to get to. I suggest we end this meeting now and resume it this evening. We have more to talk about our next move and we're all too tired to be wrapping our heads around what we just found out."

"I second that," Huntress agreed before looking to Nightwing. "What do you think?"

Upon noticing everyone looking to him, Nightwing nodded his agreement. "I agree. We'll pick this up tonight. However, there is one last thing we need to discuss."

Seeing that he had the attention of the room, he continued, "The leader, this Ra's al Ghul, he knew my identity. He actually said my name."

Eyes widened as mouths dropped open. The shock was palpable. However, Nightwing wasn't done yet. "And...he indicated he knew who all of us were."

The silence stretched longer as the astonished expression were soon joined with the paling of faces. Red Robin was actually trembling in his seat. A couple of the others were staring right into the table.

"How?" Huntress finally managed to ask. "How can he know? How does he know?"

"I don't know, but he did say he won't expose us. I'm not sure whether to believe him though."

"I can't. I won't," Manhunter responded. "If his claim is true, he has us by the throat. We can't openly oppose him if he has some ulterior motive. All he has to do is let out our identities and it's over for us."

Nightwing grimaced. No doubt, Manhunter was right. One move against this Demon's Fang and their lives were over, just like Tim's with Two-Face. This time, though, he doubted a move across the country would fix things.

It was one, giant problem they had on their hands.

"For now, there's nothing we can do," the young man said slowly. "We just went though hell last night, so we can't even think of a proper course of action. Right now, we need to get some rest. When we meet up tonight, we can discuss our options with clearer minds.

"Until then, everyone be safe."

* * *

Officer Anderson patrolled the hallway, eyeing the bullet-ridden walls. There were bodies all over the floor, ones he recognized as Italian mobsters through his years on the police force. There were others, men of Hispanic descent wearing black combat fatigues, ones he was coming to recognize as men belonging to Bane. It was clear both sides set off a battle here, one side trying to wipe out the other. Considering he saw more dead Italians than Hispanics, and Anderson was willing to wager Bane had come out on top.

The firefight had done a number on every hallway and room he had come across. For example, the light fixtures were all damage in this hall, save for one or two that cast dim lights. It was enough for him to see, but he stilled used a flashlight.

Reaching a doorway, he flashed the light from his flashlight into the room, scanning it for any survivors, finding none. Because of the moving light, shadows seemed to dart in and out, retreating from the light only to give chase right behind it. This room had minimal damage, the spattering of blood reaching from the doorway inward notwithstanding. Satisfied with what he saw, Anderson carried on moving to another room.

Again, he beamed in his flashlight, searching the room and noting some gunfire had gone off here. There were a couple of Bane's men on the floor, deceased from what he could tell. Considering they had their backs to the doorway, the officer suspected the two men had come into the room and the Italians had mowed them down from the doorway. Ignoring the moving shadows and a dark, crouched figure, Anderson turned to go further down the hall.

The police officer took a couple steps before he came to a stop. Slowly, he stepped back and looked back into the room. Pointing the flashlight back through the doorway, he found something black huddled over one of the dead men's bodies, seeming to search it for something.

What the hell was that?

Suddenly, the figure stopped, its body stiffening. Then it shot straight up, revealing it to be wearing a cape and horns that emerged from its head, save for one that was bent over midway.

Then it spun around and Anderson found his heart sinking. There, staring right at him, was a man dressed up in some crude form of a Batsuit. The Bat Symbol looked self-made on some weird material. The utility belt was bulging with all sorts of things, which Anderson feared to be weapons.

However, it was the masked faced that really got his attention. Beneath the open mouth and eye holes was pale skin and red lips. "Greetings, Law Enforcement Drone!" the very recognizable voice of the Joker greeted him. "Never fear, for Batman is here!"

Anderson blinked his eyes bewilderingly. He knew the stories; hell, he had been around for the last time the Joker tried to nuke the city. This was a genuine maniac that could and would kill you in a heartbeat. Why he was dressed like the Batman, he didn't know, but part of him wished he already had his gun drawn. While he could still do it, any fast movement could cause this maniac to react as well.

This made the other part of him grow stronger, demanding that he run down the hallway screaming.

"Wh-what are y-you doing here?" he managed to sputter out.

"Well, my dear officer, I am investigating!" the Joker proclaimed proudly. He then shot an arm out, his hand holding something that Anderson really couldn't make out in his hand. "And I found a clue!"

"A...a clue?"

"That's right, Drone! A vital clue that will no doubt lead me to the location of the nefarious villain that committed the crime here! Now I simply have to…" he trailed off.

The Joker frowned then. "Waaaaaait a minute, I'm supposed to do this unseen. I'm supposed to go in, find this clue, and get out without anyone knowing. I think I messed up here." He then retreated his hand back, using the back of the same hand to prop up the elbow of his other arm as he placed a hand beneath his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully. "I've breached the secrecy protocol here, though that's no fault of your own, good sir. Clearly I need to rectify that, but how? WWBD…"

"WWBD?" Anderson questioned.

"What Would Batman Do," Joker replied and then paused. "Oh! I've got it! I'll just make a smokescreen and vanish! Now we're back on track!"

Immediately, the Joker reached into his belt and pulled out a large ball. "Thank you for being so patient with me, Law Enforcement Drone! Now you see me! Now you don't!"

Then he raised his hand up and threw the ball to the floor, where it exploded into a cloud of green gas. Alarms went off in Anderson's head as the cloud began spreading out towards him. He knew that gas; every cop in the city knew what it was! That wasn't some smokescreen, it was Joker Venom!

Anderson spun on his heels and took off running down the hallway, trying to get as far away from the deadly gas as he could. Grabbing at his radio on his shoulder, he began shouting, "All units, stay away from the building on 32nd and Cicero! There's Joker Venom everywhere!"

Reaching the end of the corridor, Anderson then bolted down another hall, just as his radio came to life. " _You sure there's Joker Venom there?"_ someone demanded.

"Damn straight I am! I just ran into the Joker and get this—he's dressed like freaking Batman!"

* * *

Dick was growing increasingly frustrated. After last night and how things had gone downhill so quickly, it was understandable that he was feeling this way.

He supposed that he should count them all lucky that no one had yet to think about leaving the Network. What was supposed to be a turning point in the battle for Gotham turned out to be the opposite of that. However, just because no one had said anything about leaving didn't mean no one was thinking about it.

Yet, what really was getting to him was Bane. In particular, that one-sided fight with Bane where he was little more than a damn punching bag. Hell, if he was one, the chain that held him up would have snapped after one hit from that monster.

His ribs agreed with that. Christ, it felt like they were grinding against one another.

Perhaps trying to work out some of his frustration on a punching bag of his own while those same ribs were not in tip-top condition was not a smart idea. But he couldn't sit still and trying to thinking and rationalize through everything wasn't working. So he was going to work it out of himself, one way or another.

But each punch he threw sent a streak of fire up his sides. Every jar that happened whenever his fist struck the bag sent uncomfortable tremors throughout his torso and aggravated his insides. Even the grunts that slipped out didn't make things any better. In little to no time, his body was drenched his sweat, his breathing so much heavier than it should be, and he conveniently overlooked how pallid his skin looked.

He needed to be better. There was no choice in the matter. Someone needed to be able to fight Bane at his level and not the vigilante's current one.

And so he did his best to ignore how fire seemed to race up his sides with each punch he made. He would have thrown in kicks, but yeah, that hadn't been a good idea when he last tried and his body let him know about it. So he stuck to punching and ignored how much sweat was thrown off his body with each attack he made.

Then something jostled him from a side, wrapping around the arm that was ready to be thrown out.

"I think now's a good time for a break, don't you?" Who...oh, Tim. The teen was restraining him though he tried to look casual about it. Unfortunately, his former partner had aggravated his ribs in the process and Dick couldn't hold back the grunt that slipped out.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Let's sit down, take a break—"

"Let go of me, Tim."

To Tim's credit, he didn't flinch back from the tone of voice the older man used. Dick was in no mood for the usual bantering he and the younger teen used to do. That was a relic of a bygone era and right now they were in the middle of a new, and terrible, one. They needed to start reflecting that.

"Sorry, not sorry, but I'm going to have to say no to that."

"This is not the—"

"—time for you to make yourself a cripple and instead sit your ass down before you hurt yourself more? I totally agree with that."

"Tim."

"Dick. Seriously, you have, what was it, broken ribs? Even if they're not and they're fractured, you can't be doing this right now. You're going to hurt yourself and put yourself out of action and we can't afford that right now." Dick raised an eyebrow at the sharp tone of voice Tim took and one look into the teen's eyes showed that he wasn't about to give in any time soon.

Unfortunately, his ribs were screaming at him to listen and whatever it was that was keeping him on his feet decided that now was a good time to ditch him. His legs began to wobble and suddenly Tim was acting as a crutch, fully supporting him.

"See, this is totally what we don't need now. Come on, let's take a seat."

And down onto the mat he went. As much as he wanted to, Dick didn't flop down, instead easing himself onto his back and gulping in breaths of air. Oh, why did it hurt so much to breathe now?

Meanwhile, Tim sat back with his arms behind him, propping himself up. Instead of doing what he knew the teen was dying to say, the younger male sat there mercifully looking like he might starting humming any second now. He prayed that Tim wouldn't do that; that would make the "I told you so" moment even worse.

After some time had past, only then did Tim say, "Better?"

The answer to that was obvious: no. Dick ended up showing that by doing nothing but panting. Yeah, what a way to show you were hot stuff right here.

"I get it, Dick. I understand," Tim sighed. "Remember back before I had to leave? With Two-Face finding out who I was and everything? I'm betting that's what you're feeling like right now. Helpless, frustrated, angry, but there's not a damn thing you can do about it. Everything's taken right out of your hands and no matter what you do, you can't...you can't get any of it back."

"Please...Tim...no heart-to-hearts. That's...rubbing salt...into the wound."

"Alright, then explain how doing...this, is going to help anyone, or anything?" Tim gestured towards the punching bag and at the young adult's body. "Do tell me then. Because I think everyone's gonna love to hear how you put yourself out of commission just as we're trying to make this Network thing work."

"What am I supposed to do? Take it easy? Because Bane sure isn't doing that with Gotham!" Dick snapped, glaring up at Tim.

Tim was unfazed. "What's all the talk about doing this smart, then? If you're not going to be smart and _let your ribs heal_ , then what's the point of having you on the roster? Seriously. I should tell Barbara what you're doing and that's going to go over _so_ well."

He eyed the mother-henning teen warily. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" Tim retorted. "You're lucky I intercepted the call from that girl, you know, the one with the dye job? The rest of the Batclan's worried about you and so am I. If we want to beat someone like Bane, then no one can be doing dumb stuff like this." Another gesture of his arm to the punching bag. "The world may be falling apart, but we have got to keep it together because no one else will. It's up to us, remember?"

"Is it? Because last I checked...it's always been up to Batman. If he couldn't do it...what are our chances? Nil? Nada? Are we just jerking ourselves around with this idea? Am I jerking my self?"

"There's no way to know if we're doing the right thing, or if we're going to succeed, but we have to try anyway," Tim said softly. Dick had to strain his ears in order to hear him. "I know that I don't keep in touch as much as I should, but since I left, I've met a lot of people. A few of them you have to wonder why they're still moving, why they don't just give up. Yet they do, and somehow, when we're together, we're able to do some incredible things. Do we mess up? Yeah, we do. But we keep at it, we fix it, live and learn and all that crap. It's the same thing here. We can beat Bane. We will. We have to. Because Batman wouldn't give up.

"So we can't. Because then Bane wins for sure and we have to let the Demon's Fang pick up the slack. I don't know who they are, but we can't trust them. Who knows what else they're planning, and that it just so happens to be at the same time Bane's making his move. In some way or another, this is our home and we can't give it up without a fight."

"Even if it kills us?" Dick asked.

"Especially if it kills us," Tim stated. "From this point on, everybody has to know that there's a chance a few of us...some of us...maybe all of us may not get out of this in one piece, or even alive. We gotta accept that that's a possibility and then continue fighting. We can't lose here. We can't afford to lose. Because all the years running around as the Batclan, Barbara and her back, me and Two-Face, what would it have meant? Would it all be in vain?"

Dick set his jaw, clenching his teeth together. His automatic thought was _hell no_ because Barbara didn't get paralyzed for no reason, or that Tim didn't make an enemy of a psychotic former district attorney for nothing.

But then the memory of Bane backhanding him, throwing him around like a ragdoll, and his hand wrapped around his throat watered down any anger he felt. He was lucky to have gotten out of that situation with the injuries he did have.

He was lucky he was still alive.

"Go home Dick. Take a nap, or something. Get something to eat. Just...rest. Let your body do what it needs to do, and we'll see each other tonight when we begin planning our counterattack," Tim continued, his voice still soft. The teens lips curved into a smirk, "Otherwise, I might just take all the glory and make you look bad."

He couldn't help it. "Like hell you will."

"That's the spirit," the teen praised. "Now I'm going to pretend that you weren't here, alright? I'll make sure no one else finds out so that way you won't get sidelined, but you gotta go home and rest. Trust me, I know what it's like to be sidelined. It sucks."

"Fine," Dick sighed, smiling lazily. "I won't pull a you."

"Yeah, don't pull a—hey, what's that suppose to mean!"

* * *

Adjusting the flame, Crane left the latest batch of fear toxin to boil. There were some chemical processes that needed heat to begin reacting and this was one of the key parts. However, he needed to be careful. Any fumes emitted from the compound had the potential to induce the hallucinogenic fear reaction that was the substance's purpose.

Even though it had been so long, it felt so good to be back at the table once more. Almost like riding a bicycle, though he himself had never ridden one before. The saying was appropriate for this situation.

So far, this wasn't the only batch he had made, just the current one he was working on. Since he had about twenty minutes or so before he needed to do anything else with it, he took the time to turn his attention to another project he was working on in his free time.

And he had a lot of projects. The big one was figuring out a way that he could begin mass producing his toxin. He wanted a lot of it, instead of making the small amounts he was forced to right now. To do that, he was going to need large quantities of the toxin's ingredients.

Those were a lot of uncommon materials, so he had been researching other ways to use different, more common ingredients to make his brainchild. Surprisingly, he had been making a lot of headway with it. In fact, the current batch was a test sample, a new formula if you would. Theoretically, it should have the same properties as the original, but there needed to be some testing first.

Which led to his other project: an alternative dispenser of the toxin. He was thinking of a glove, one that used retracting needles, but so far it wasn't working out too well. Then he wanted to incorporate a way to still use the aerosol form of the toxin; there was so much he wanted but was having trouble combining together.

A shame he didn't major in engineering.

Crane gave a sigh from behind the cloth-based air filter he wore. Despite how busy he was now, he wouldn't trade it for all the world. _This_ is what he thrived on, not languishing in Arkham's dungeon. He was a man of the mind, a seeker of knowledge, and admirer of all that was fear. To further his research, that was what gave him meaning, and after all this time he finally had the opportunity to do so once more.

And it was one he was fully taking advantage of. No more was he in that next to condemned apartment. He was in a better facility, one that could cater to his needs. All of his needs. From here, who knew where it would take him? More importantly, where would it take his research?

Frowning, he had the sense that he was being watched. Crane looked over his shoulder and was slightly proud that he didn't jump off the stool he sat on. Looks like his benefactor had returned.

"Say something next time. Please, _please_ , do not just appear out of air like that," he said. He mentioned nothing about how another dark-colored man did the same thing years before.

"Tell me about Hugo Strange," the Phantasm stated, though it felt more like an order than anything.

Ah yes, to business. From what information he was able to glean, his partner-in-crime here was on the hunt for any and everyone involved with the now-defunct False Face Society. Once, he himself had tried to join its ranks only to be made into a manufacturing drone and left to rot in Arkham. There was no love lost between the former psychological researcher and the criminal organization.

And much to his own surprise, he found lately that whatever loyalty he may have had to his once-mentor was lost.

"I doubt 'please' is in your vocabulary, but then again neither is it in mine," Crane remarked as he turned back to the counter that held his work. "Professor Strange was the man that mentored me during my doctorate program at Gotham University. The man is smart, insanely smart. He is always thinking of possibilities that have yet to be considered, but he's more than willing to share. However, he only shares with a price."

"Where do I find him." A statement, not a question.

"Hiding is a surprising skill he has. However, based on what I know of him, he is a man of comfort. He won't lower himself to a place that he would see as beneath him." Crane knew the story well, how Strange had sold off everything he owned and left Arkham Asylum only to reappear in the private sector as a psychiatrist for the rich, powerful, and straight-up gullible. Always in the lap of luxury. "But I doubt he has gone far. Personally, I don't think he left Gotham the first time, and if what the stories are saying are true, I think this time is the same case. More than likely he too has set up shop."

"Where."

Really, Crane understood the impatience, more than anyone would ever know. "As I mentioned, he has a talent for hiding. He also has a talent for recruitment. Odds are he still has a contact or two in the city that he could have used to set himself up. If he hasn't been arrested or you haven't gotten to him yet, I would look into David Franco."

David had been yet another middle man, one that Strange had conscripted to allow Crane to have a place to stay prior to his meeting with a mobster. It had been an arrangement that had ended upon his later capture.

"Now, before you go pay him a visit, should he not have shuffled off the mortal coil, here's what you wanted," Crane continued as he reached out and picked up a vial that had a screw-on top. A clear liquid sloshed inside of it, and the fear expert handed it over to the man with the blade for a hand.

The Phantasm gazed upon the vial for a second before taking it and tucking it away beneath his cloak.

Oh, what did people see after they were exposed to the toxin? Based on the masked man's design, it had to be something truly terrifying. Not for the first time was Crane tempted to see for himself, but he knew all too well the potency of his toxin; there were always hazards to making something new that were unavoidable.

But he would have to settle for Strange finding out. Served the bastard right. After all the years, working together, mentoring, everything, that man abandons him to the mercy of the Batman without even giving a warning or a heads up.

Well, it was long overdue that Crane pay that stiff back.

And as the Phantasm withdrew, leaving him to his lonesome, the man also known as the Scarecrow returned to his projects with new inspiration. All the while, his latest concoction continued to boil.

* * *

Ah, his patient was stirring.

Strange looked away from the table top counter, where various papers, books, and several syringes filled with a clear liquid resided. He had in particular been admiring the syringes, the instruments which held the fruits of his labor. There was a beauty to them, one he found he had trouble looking away from.

A human moan, though, was a good distractor. Turning away, his gaze fell on the sight of a man who was restrained to a kitchen table with various ropes and restraints. It was a familiar sight, eerily familiar even.

Unlike last time, this was a man whom he had picked up right off the road. That he was running away from gunfire had made him desperate and gullible enough to accept a ride from a perfect stranger. The former shrink had been aware of the situation happening in the area, and had seen it for the opportunity that it was.

He was in need of some guinea pigs.

"You were out longer than I had anticipated," Strange greeted as the restrained man began blinking his eyes open, the effects of the tranquilizer wearing off.

There was a bleariness to the man's eyes, as if the drug had not fully left his system. How disappointing; he would need to wait a moment. Moments like these required full awareness to fully appreciate them.

"Wh-w...wh...ere...where am I?" the man rasped, having difficulty even speaking. Hmm, perhaps that had been too great a dose? That was something for future reference. A simple adjustment to the dosage and he wouldn't have to wait so long for them to wake up.

"Who…?" Ah, more coherency. "What? What the fuck is this?"

Rage, anger, so nostalgic. It was almost like meeting an old friend.

"So glad you could join us," he quipped. "I hope that you rested well."

"You're making a big mistake, buddy," the restrained man growled. "Do you know who I am?"

"I believe you will enlighten me," Strange drawled.

"I'm Mario Falcone, you asshole! Falcone!"

Falcone? Now there was a name he hadn't heard in a long time. And like everything else, it was something in the past, dead and buried. Another reminder that even the powerful can fall—one that the scion of that family appeared to need to relearn.

"Get these goddamn things off me already! I swear, you're gonna regret this!"

"A word of advice, young Falcone," Strange cut in before a self-entitled rant began. "That name of yours? It has no power here. Understand the situation: you are powerless and at my mercy. As of this moment, I have need of you and you will perform."

"You're only making this worse for yourself," the proud Falcone snarled.

And now the nostalgia was gone. Perhaps another tact was needed.

Moving away, Strange returned to his workspace, reaching for a nearby drawer. Opening it, he removed a small syringe, one that also possessed a clear solution within it, but couldn't be more different. This was a substance that held a more sinister purpose.

Returning to Falcone's side, Strange uncapped the needle all the while searching for a spot to jab it in. Unfortunately, it seemed this time he had neglected to divest his test subject of his outer layers of clothing. He wasn't about to make the effort rolling up a couple of sleeves to find bare skin, so instead he reached out to the collars of both the man's coat and collared shirt.

Without concern, Strange injected the fluid into Falcone's neck, heedless of whether he had gotten an artery or a vein. In a few minutes, it wouldn't matter anyway.

With his neck tensing, tendons jutting out from beneath his skin, Falcon demanded, "What did you put into me?"

"Something to make you more...suggestible," the deranged psychiatrist answered casually, setting the used syringe aside. "We'll give it a minute to let it make its way to your brain."

"You are dead. You hear me? Dead!"

"If you believe you are the first to say that to me, you are sadly mistaken. Similar to the others, they all regretted saying that." By then, Strange had retrieved one of the syringes he had been gazing at earlier. "What I just injected into you is the least of your worries. Save your concern for this. At this point in time, it has yet to be tested, and unlike others, I will not make myself the test subject for it."

"Get that shit away from me!"

"Feeling any regret? I knew what I was going to use you for before I even set my sight on you. I need to know the effects of this serum, and lucky for you, you're my guinea pig. Whatever happens, I hope you don't die from the exposure to it. I have... _many_ questions that I want answered before that."

"Ngh...no…" Ah, and the earlier injection was taking hold. Good.

"Hold still," Strange instructed as he stood before the restrained Falcone. Going for the other side of his neck, he injected his serum into the bound man, watching critically as the liquid was pushed into the unwilling body.

Then he stood back and waited. He need not wait long. Falcone began to thrash, his body heaving. Then his clothes began to rip as muscles began to bulge.

Strange's lips curved into a manic grin.


	9. Chicago

When in a conflict of attrition, obtaining a base of operations was crucial. It needed to be concealed, overlooked, while offering a tactical advantage.

For Ra's al Ghul, one had been erected for him decades ago.

There was no way the building had been built for his current needs. In fact, it had other designs that it had been intended for. Those uses had been used before, yet not in quite some time. As of now, it was nothing more than a monument reflecting a bygone era.

The room he was in was circular and large enough for a second level to be constructed. A command center was currently being constructed on this second level, situated at the center of the room. Crates were stacked upon each other throughout the chamber, the agents of the Demon's Fang utilizing them as they were needed. The activity around the ancient man was constant, a background noise to his musings.

Currently, Ra's was on the first level, standing at one of the windows. In fact, glass sections were situated at even intervals. There were three panes with the center being a glass door that led out to a balcony.

It was one of these windows that the Demon stared at into the gloomy city. A park surrounded the building, giving way to urban infrastructure, creating a skyline. Ra's was not a man to marvel at such sights; this was merely a blight on the face of the planet, though currently it was a necessary evil.

And in this evil was a new threat. Though he was quite confident this Bane challenger was no match for him, the fact he had disposed of the Detective so brutally made him worthy of notice. A closer look was warranted.

Of course, this closer look would involve conflict. Bane had mercenaries from his homeland at his disposal, and by all accounts he had no concern for their well-being. They were mere pawns for his conquest, a quality he could respect. However, those men paled when compared to the Demon's Fang. Those mercenaries had been felled by his men easily during the attack on one of Gotham's remaining crime families.

Still, it was not wise to rest on one's laurels. There was no doubt Bane would be learning of their existence soon. The proper course of action required that by the time Bane realized he was under attack, he would be a heartbeat from falling. Quick, decisive battles would chisel away his forces, leaving him alone for the thrust from his dagger into his back.

The sound of footsteps reached his ears, informing him that one of his underlings was approaching him, the reflection of his Right Hand appearing in the glass. "Master," the deep voice of Ubu addressed him.

Ra's did not deign to turn his attention away from Gotham. "What is it, Ubu?" he inquired.

"The preparation for the Wonder Tower base are coming along as planned. We shall have all that you require ready before the morning is finished."

Acceptable news. "And what of our other preparations?"

"The securing of the pit is almost complete and will be within the hour. No one has disturbed it for a century, my Master. We found all of the safeguards still in place."

Excellent. "Continue on, Ubu. Report to me when all preparations are complete."

"Yes, my Master." Ubu's reflection faded away from the window, leaving Ra's with only his view of the city. Yes, this tower fulfilled all of his needs for the battles looming at the horizon. It pleased him that the construction of this tower had not been used by unworthy hands. Even if it had, he still would've rid Wonder Tower of that infestation.

After all, this was _his_ design.

* * *

After last night, Gordon was glad that he had all the information on the resources he had at his disposal. From the beat cops, to homicide, to SWAT, right in front of him were the number of men, the number of vehicles, the kinds of weapons, and total amount of firepower it added up to.

The Commissioner was not in his office, though. No, he was in a conference room that was now a war room. It would be here he and the rest of the GCPD would plan out the retaking of Gotham.

"Everything we have to crack down on all this, we have right in front of us," he told the assembled men and women that were in the room with him. From his wife, Sarah, to the transferee and up-and-comer Sawyer, to SWAT commander Petit, and everyone else in-between, he had brought together the greatest minds the department had to offer.

"The first thing we're going to need is intel," Sarah stated. "We could have a bunker buster, but if we don't know where to fire it, it's useless. We need to know where Bane is headquartering himself. Where does he keep that private army of his?"

"You tell me the place, my boys will kick down the door," Petit promised.

"Anything from the undercovers?" Sawyer spoke up, looking to the department rep for that area. Yes, even the undercover officers had a department within a department.

That rep was a man by the name of Sergeant Tom Miller. Wide-shouldered, dark-haired, and currently unshaven, Miller answered, "So far nothing and don't think they haven't been trying. A few of them got caught up in that crap from last night. The holdout mobsters weren't on their A-game and didn't pick up on them. Bane's been harder. He don't just take anybody and make him one of his own."

"Which makes it that much harder to figure out what his next move is going to be," Sawyer concluded.

"We'll need to keep them trying. Find an angle. Get close, but not close enough to raise suspicions. Right now, we just need to know where Bane's hiding place is," Gordon stated. "In the meantime, he's going to have to be running something that's going to be making him money. You don't keep an army on your side without paying them. So where's he keeping his cash?"

"I'll send out the word," Miller said.

"Once we find out what we need to know, we hit him hard, throw everything we have at him. We take him alive if we can, make him answer to us and the rest of the city for what he's done. If we can't, we will have to consider whether we have to put him down," the Commissioner continued.

"Isn't that a bit...heavy-handed?" Lieutenant Gordon asked, looking at her husband who was pointedly not looking in her direction.

"What Bane's done to this city is heavy-handed and don't think for a minute he'll go down quietly just because we read him his Miranda rights," Petit retorted. "We're at war here, Gordon. We need to treat it like it is."

"We're not the military, or some federal agency. We have to remember we're all cops here, that we're held up to a certain standard," the Lieutenant argued.

"Standards mean nothing if we get slaughtered!" Petit retorted. "This isn't going to be some walk in the park. This is going to be a bloodbath if the reports from last night mean anything! If they're not going to hold back, neither can we! I won't send my men in if we're going to do this with one arm tied behind our backs!"

"We'll deal with each issue as they come up. It's pointless to try to figure everything out before we have _all_ the facts," Gordon interrupted. "Remember, Bane's the enemy and he's out _there_. We can't fight with ourselves, lest we give him an advantage. Some of us here have been around long enough that we've seen this city change, for better and worse, and I won't let us slide backwards because we're too busy fighting over details. Know this people, I'm already drawing up a request to institute martial law should things get any worse. Let's not resort to that. Let's show everyone we're more than capable of handling this situation without it. Damn it, this is our city and I will not let some person from out of town take it from us."

There were nods around the conference table. Ii seemed like the Commissioner was getting better with these motivational speeches. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing was debatable.

"Let's start with increasing our presence first. We'll need to suspend vacation time for the time being, get everyone we can who's not laid up in the hospital on the beat. Everyone else, we track down everything Bane owns and take it all. Make that animal desperate. Starve him. We need to be ready for any and all retaliation because, as Petit mentioned, he won't take this lying down, and we're going to be ready for him. If we make him predictable, we've already won half the fight. Let's get to work people."

Before he could say anything else, there was a knock on the war room door. Hmm, just as he was rolling too. "What is it?" he called out, and waited for the fresh face desk jockey to stick his head in.

"Commissioner? Sir? There's someone out front asking for you."

"I'm busy right now. Tell them to wait," Gordon stated. What was it with people always wanting to see him when he was busy with other, more important things?

"I think this might be important, Commissioner," the younger man said, shifting uneasily in the doorway. "I was told to tell you it's Tough Tony."

That made Gordon pause for a second.

"What the hell is Bressi doing here?" Petit grumbled.

While not officially considered organized crime, Bressi was the face of the unions in Gotham and he had his hand in quite a few questionable activities. The man was smart enough not to have any direct connection to himself, but it was pretty much an open secret what kind of man he was.

"Keep working people. I'll go see what this is about," the Commissioner decided after a moment. Something was up, he could feel it. What exactly it was, he couldn't say.

But he was going to find out.

Moments later, he found himself out in the precinct's lobby, a long line of officers bringing a countless number of apprehended men and women, some who had committed recent crimes, and others who were still free from the Blackgate break. Even with the city under siege, business as usual had to carry on.

It was to a wooden bench where the Commissioner was led, a man in a suit sitting there looking for all the world like a man being led to the execution chamber. It was amazing to see a man like Antony Bressi, whose nickname had the word tough in it, appear the complete opposite of what he was known for.

Something was on Bressi's mind. He supposed he was going to have to get the bottom of it.

"What do you want, Bressi?" the Commissioner greeted. It was obvious to see that he was in no mood for pleasantries.

Bressi lifted his head up and Gordon was shocked to see how haunted his eyes looked. He had been in the department a long time, but never had he seen such a look on anybody who was brought in, or came here.

"Commissioner, is there a place we can talk in private?" That was the greeting Bressi gave, and his voice was heavy, almost lifeless.

Taking in all this, Gordon found himself agreeing to the request and gestured for the union boss to follow him to his office. If Bressi's appearance was a surprise, the bombshell he dropped as soon as Gordon closed the door behind them made that all look like nothing.

"I want to turn myself in."

The Commissioner had to take a seat. This...this was…

Nothing like this had ever happened before. While the white-haired man was under no illusion that organized crime wasn't extinct in this city, never had any person who had such involvement in it like Bressi did, who was high up in its ranks, ever come here and speak those words before. It was always to the death, or a lawyer brought in. Speaking of which…

"I notice you aren't here with your lawyer. What is going on?" Gordon asked.

"Forget about lawyers, they'll just make a mess of this. And I know you heard me," Bressi retorted, a little bit of life flaring up in him if only for a second.

The Commissioner took a moment to process all this. Finally, he said, "You want to turn yourself in. Become a state's witness?"

"I'm nobody's witness. I won't tell you, or any of your cops any of my secrets. But I want to turn myself in. Whatever you have on me, no matter what it is, I'll plead guilty to, alright? This is the part you slap on the handcuffs, right? Let's get this over with." Bressi was just a babbler, wasn't he?

"Actually, we read you your rights first, then slap the cuffs on," Gordon replied. "Forgive me if I'm having trouble accepting the sincerity of your request. If you don't mind me asking: what brought on this change of heart? I don't think you woke up this morning and thought it was a good idea to put yourself into police custody. What happened? What made you decide that this is what you want to do?"

To his credit, Bressi didn't look outraged at being doubted. Instead, he gave a big sigh, the kind only those who had seen death stare them in the face and finally known mortality. "I've seen what's happening, Gordon. I saw that monster in action. There's no stopping him. Either you surrender to him, or you run, or you find some other way. I've done some soul searching; it's only a matter of time until he comes after me.

"I have a family. I know, I don't look the type, but they're more important to me than keeping my place at the top. Bane can have the unions, but I won't let him have my kids. They wouldn't understand. So do what you want to me, Gordon; just promise me nothing's going to happen to them."

Okay, Gordon could appreciate that. Still, hell of a time to grow a conscience.

Still, there was something about what Bressi had mentioned. If Bane did indeed what full control over the criminal underworld, he would go after the unions eventually. Some of the unions in Gotham were little more than criminal enterprises; sure there were some that were legitimate, but as they say, a few bad apples spoiled the barrel.

But it was a barrel that would be too tempting for the masked man to pass up.

"Are you sure about that one part? Me doing what I want with you?" Gordon asked as he leaned back in his seat.

"I say what I mean, Gordon. Out of all the people in the city, when I say something, I mean it," Bressi stated.

"Then there's something you can do for me. Something no one else in Gotham can."

At this, Bressi frowned. "What are you saying?"

"You said it yourself, Bane will come for the unions. When he does, we'll be waiting for him, but for that to happen, you are going to have to be free," Gordon told the other man, whose eyes were widening with each word the Commissioner spoke. "I'll keep your kids safe, Bressi, don't worry about that. But in return, I'm going to need your help."

* * *

Since the Network meeting had broken up, Barbara was hot on the digital trail.

It had been an idea she had, one that had come from her admittance of not finding anything about the Demon's Fang. Yeah, she was a bit bummed out about that, but all the talking of searching over the internet for information had given her an idea.

It was so obvious. While she could find barely anything about this new group, what was there to say there was nothing on Bane? He didn't spring out of thin air; that monster with the wrestler's mask had to have come from somewhere.

If they knew more about their enemy, there was a way to use it against him.

And then she ran into the first roadblock. Like with the Demon's Fang, there wasn't a lot of information about Bane. Unlike the Demon's Fang, in comparison, there was more of it.

Bane was some kind of assassin. Like, a real good assassin. She had found some...evidence of his past hits and they weren't pretty to look at. From there, she had looked into the details of his hits, trying to find any commonalities and then compare them to his actions in Gotham.

That's where she ran into the first roadblock. Nothing of what Bane was doing in Gotham matched up with his actions from before. What had happened? Why such a drastic change? It made no sense to her.

Then came the second roadblock. Before Bane went on the bloody trail of offing people for money, there was absolutely nothing on him. There was no criminal record; no school records; there wasn't even a damn birth certificate. So what the hell?

It was frustrating to say the least and not at all like how a person always finds what they're looking for on the first hit.

However, she was smart, and knew that there were ways around such roadblocks. She might not be able to find something out about Bane, but there were his lackeys. Figuring out where they came from would be difficult, but instead of focusing on the whole, she picked out a few key figures.

The first one was the man called Zombie. A guy like him, who had access to poisons that most people in the States didn't, would narrow down a location, but then, of course, since the universe was against her, there wasn't much information about him. This also went for the components used in that poison he had used on Manhunter. He must have been a nomad, or something. Still, that wasn't as helpful as she had hoped.

It was the second one, though, where she hit pay dirt. Bradley Colossimo had tons of information on him. He was American, sticking out from all the Latinos he now surrounded himself with, and more specifically, he was a Gotham native. Bingo.

It wasn't really surprising to find out that he had ties to organized crime, though she felt a little giddy when the name Jimmy Novak came up. Sounds like someone was evening a score somewhere in here. What was surprising was that he was a lawyer, not a gangster. Hmm, so what other surprises were there?

A lot more, such as Colissimo had not been in Gotham in some time, like before Batman long ago. The reason for that was that he had been out of the country during this time. In fact, he had been in a country called Santa Prisca.

Santa Prisca was an island in the Caribbean, some ways away from Cuba. It had the typical history of one of those islands: had native inhabitants that were wiped out by the Spanish, declared independence in the 1800s, had several coups that left a military junta in power, you know the drill. The last big revolution had been in the 50s, where the junta clamped down and annihilated it; apparently it had taken notes from Cuba and wanted to stay on the U.S.'s good side.

Oddly, enough, a few years ago there had been another coup, but not much information had gotten out about it.

Anyway, so what was Colossimo doing there? There wasn't much about that, but available court documents had him convicted of drug smuggling. Eeeh. bad move there. The last thing you should ever do in a third world country was do anything that involved drugs. They really took the War of Drugs seriously in those places; the man was lucky he wasn't executed.

But he was sent to perhaps a worse place: Pena Duro Prison.

That was a place that was in the top ten worst prisons in the world. No one ever left there, not even in a body bag. Hell was a nice beach on the Florida coast in comparison to this place. Inmate murders, sadistic guards, unforgiving living conditions, you name it, it was here. And here was where Colossimo would spend the rest of his life.

Or so you would think.

How he got out didn't matter. From her monitor, she could see his prison record from Pena Duro. If she could get that record, who else's could she get? That's where even more pay dirt was hit because what do you know, there was Zombie's mugshot. Looks like he too was an inmate there. Again, it was drug related crimes, though his involved manufacturing. Hmm, the plot thickens.

Two of Bane's top men and they both happened to be in the same prison at the same time. What were the odds Bane was there too?

She could feel it; she was getting somewhere. As her fingers danced on the keyboard, she was so close to getting something that could possibly, potential turn this whole shitstorm around.

ACCESS DENIED

 _What?_

Barbara blinked her eyes at the screen for a moment before narrowing them and plunging ahead.

ACCESS DENIED

Okay, what was up with this shit? Whatever, time to really show off her hacking skills. She was determined to crack this nut and crack it hard. Nothing was going to stand in her way.

ACCESS DENIED

The small room was quiet. Okay, it seemed her skills weren't up to the task. But why? Why was there this powerful of a security measure that could stop her hacking abilities cold?

This required more intel. So now she was doing some digging, but now it was into the unexpected firewall that was now stopping her in her digital tracks rather than her original objective.

It took a bit, but she soon figured it out. Seemed like the prison record she was trying to access was classified information. Like, highly classified, for your eyes only classified. The only way you got this record was if it was redacted and if it was, it was dipped in ink if only to save time.

Here was the weird part, though. The encryptions used to make the record classified was the same kind used by the Department of Defense, the same one that was located in the United States. This was on the level of the upper echelons of the freaking Pentagon.

What the hell was going on here?

What was the American military doing in a prison in Santa Prisca of all places?

Leaning back in her wheelchair, Barbara began to think about what she had learned.

If they were to learn anything about Bane, everything pointed to someone going down to that island and getting the hard copy, if such a copy was there to be found. No one in their right mind would do such a thing, such as going into such a dangerous place on a maybe.

Then again, all of them weren't in their right minds for even thinking about taking that masked monster on.

Nothing for it, then. She would pass on what she found out and let the others decide what they were going to do about it. If they were smart, they would forget about it.

A shame that was also something they couldn't afford to do.

* * *

There was a breeze in the air, making it chilly. It was a cloudless day in Chicago, which made the sunlight seem even brighter.

In the Southside, where trash littered the ground and graffiti decorated the surface of any wall, a person in a black hoodie walked down the street. In their hand was a plastic bag from a nearby store. Well, it was two bags; the checkout clerk called it double bagging. Due to the coldness in the air, their other hand was safe and warm in the pocket of the jacket.

The hood was over their head, revealing a yellow inside to the hoodie, though the hem of the hood also indicated as much. Regardless, the hood hid their face and that was what they wanted. A sense of wariness made them search the street and the buildings for prying eyes. You never knew if someone was looking for you.

And there was someone. They had followed them to this city. If it weren't for the need for food, this trip would not have happened. They would need to leave this place once they returned to their safe place.

Unfortunately, it seemed they would not get their without interference.

Turning a corner at an approaching intersection, four youth appeared, looking very much like hoodlums. A couple had large, bulky jackets on while another one had a long-sleeve shirt and a hat on. The last one wore a hoodie jacket just like them, but it had some sort of logo, a marking of a brand. Part of them hoped these four would just ignore them, laughing and joking with each other as they walked by.

"Heeeey, what do we have here?" the boy in the long-sleeves said, clearly looking at them. "Looks like we have a trespasser."

The other three went, "Ohhhhhh," as if that was a bad thing. "They must be new here," one of the boys in the big jackets added, "so they don't know they need to pay the toll."

The person came to a stop. They knew they were the one being spoke of. Unfortunately, that allowed the youths to surround them, two behind and two in front. They walked with the swagger of gangbangers, so they were most likely armed.

One of the ones behind them suddenly moved next to them. "What do you have in here, pal?" he asked even as he grabbed at their grocery bag. They allowed the youth to take it, their now empty hand dangling at their side. The boy opened the bag up and rummaged through it. "There's nothing but bread and deli meat," he said in disgust. More rustling. "And milk. What, couldn't afford anything else, buddy?"

"Hey, don't knock sandwiches," the other boy in the heavy jacket replied. This one was in front of them and he sauntered towards them. "And I am a little thirsty. Tell ya what, give us your bag here and we'll let you walk."

"Or we can just kill them and not have to bother asking," long-sleeve boy added.

The heavy jacket boy gave them a look. "So what'll it be?" He raised a hand up, reaching for the hood.

Immediately, their hand shot up and grabbed onto the youth's wrist. Without hesitation, they twisted the wrist, causing the boy's arm to turn at an odd angle. The guy cried out as he instinctively leaned backwards, trying to create some relief in his arm, but failing.

They let the hand go and the boy stumbled back a couple steps, gripping their sore wrist. "Your fucked up now, dickhead," he growled. "Someone ice this asshole!"

One of the boys in the back rushed at them; they could tell by the sudden sound of feet stomping on pavement. Bending froward at the waist, they ducked as a fist went sailing overhead, a punch aimed for the back of their head. As they straighten up, they shot a hand up and pushed the attacker in the back, causing him to keep running, albeit stumbling, forward until they slowed themselves to a stop.

By then, a boy in a heavy jacket was running at them, throwing a punch towards their face. Immediately they darted to a side, bringing up a hand to quickly grab ahold of their attacker's wrist. Lightning fast, they shot their other arm up, jutting their palm as their fingers curled back. Before the boy could react, they slammed their palm against the elbow, hyperextending the arm until the bone snapped.

The boy screamed wildly as they went stumbling forward, collapsing to the ground as they grabbed at their arm. Despite the bulky jacket, anyone could see the arm was bent at an unnatural angle. Red began to appear at the cuff of the jacket's sleeve until blood began to trickle onto the hand, indicating the broken bone had pierced through skin.

"Jesus Christ!" the first attacker gasped as he sidestepped instinctively, ending up bumping into the building next to them.

That was when the sound of a switchblade opening was made. "I'll get 'em," the boy with the long-sleeves growled. Turning their head to face them, the person watched the knife-wielder run towards them. They wanted for a moment before they fully faced the rushing teen. Bracing their legs, they waited until the last moment before simultaneously leaning backwards and jumping, going into a backflip.

Their timing was perfect as one of their upswinging feet collided with the knife-hand of their opponent. The kick knocked the knife out of the boy's grasp, sending it flipping up into the air.

As the world spun downwards and then upwards, the person completed their flip. However, the moment their feet returned to the ground, they were already on the move, lunging forward into the air towards their opponent. One leg drawn back, they swung it through the air, landing a sidekick to the side of the long-sleeve boy's face, the force of the blow causing their head to snap to a side. In fact, he was hit so hard, his feet were yanked off the pavement as they went into a spin, rapidly spinning around as they fell to the ground, landing in a heap.

Again, the person touched back on the ground, but they were not finished. Pivoting on one foot, they continued to spin even as they jumped up again, swinging out yet another kick. This time, their target was not a person. Due to gravity, the switchblade that had been kicked up into the air was now falling down. With perfect timing, they swung a kick that connected with the falling knife, sending it flying blade first through the air.

The next thing the knife hit was brick. In fact, it was right next to the head of the teen standing next to the building. The blade slid right into the brick until the handle was the only thing sticking out. The boy jerked his head to look at the weapon, swearing, "Jesus!" as he stared at the handle.

However, that was when the last boy with a heavy jacket came charging in. The person sidestepped their charge, but was too slow to avoid the hand reaching out for them. Fingers grabbed onto the hood on their head and pulled as the boy ran passed them. Dark hair emerged from beneath the hood, the face of Cassandra Wayne becoming visible.

Undeterred, Cassandra saw an opening and she attacked it. Kicking out with a foot, she landed a blow to the back of the charging teen's knee, causing it to buckle and sending him awkwardly crashing to the ground as he cried out, skidding across pavement until he came to a stop.

Cassandra didn't wait for her foe to recover. She immediately closed the distance between them, dropping to a knee next to the teen. With an arm raised, fingers curling back to expose her palm, she jerked it downwards, slamming a palm strike to the back of the boy's head. Immediately, his head snapped forward, cracking against the ground and knocking him unconscious.

That left one more. Shooting back onto her feet, Cassandra turned around to face her last foe, who was currently trying to yank the switchblade out of the wall.

She would not give them that chance. Racing towards the defenseless boy, she kept a fist at her side, swinging it the moment she was within striking range. By then, the boy had heard her approach and was turning to look at her, only to see her fist slam into his face. His head jerked back, the back of his skull bashing against the building. Much like his friend, he lost consciousness from the blow, his body going limp as he slumped down to the ground, back leaning up against the wall.

Cassandra stared at the boy before she looked out to the rest of them. Only one was still awake and he was currently writhing on the ground, clutching their broken arm. It was then she noticed her grocery bag on the ground, its contents still in the bag. Walking up to it, she bent over to pick it up.

As she leaned back up, she used her other hand to pull her hood back on. Scanning the surrounding area, she saw no visible threats, though that did not mean they were not there. It was already time for her to be gone.

Hopefully this little incident wouldn't draw her stalker's attention.


	10. Batgirl vs Trogg

It was a short climb down the stairs. Stopping at a door, Cassandra stared at its metal surface before she turned her head to look at the wall. There was a small panel, which she placed her hand on. Immediately, a dim blue light shined from the panel, moving from the bottom up. Then the panel lit up completely, a small green light flashed at the bottom.

The sound of a lock unlocking was made and the door slid to a side. Stepping through the doorway, the door slid shut behind the girl. A large room greeted her, one with metal floors and faded walls. It was one of many such places she had stayed at as she moved across the country. Glancing to her ride, she saw an ambulance parked to one side, next to a stainless steel door, one that rolled upward when opened. Due to the transmitter being removed, there was no worry anyone would trace it here.

A bright light lit up one part of the room, where a table was exposed. On it was Batman, a blanket covering his body, his naked face visible. It was here Cassandra walked to. She dropped her plastic grocery bag on the floor next to a computer terminal, reaching the table a moment later. Silently, the girl stared down at the dark-haired man.

It had been several weeks since she had last seen him awake. Ever since she had taken him away from Gotham, he had been unconscious. A doctor she had taken into service had said he was in a coma.

How she had gotten the doctor was...how you say...a long story. Well, perhaps it wasn't a long story. In fact, one could say it was criminal.

Abductions usually were.

The occasional doctor aside, other medical personnel had been recruited and used in the effort to heal Batman. A technician had been brought in to place some sort of long IV—the technician had called it a PICC line—into his arm, one that was currently infusing a bag of...what had they called it? TPN? Yes, a bag of thick fluid was hanging from a pole and was going through the PICC line, providing nutrition. A new bag was obtained daily from a local hospital. Never mind the bag wasn't made specifically for him, but the hospital could make more.

Cassandra sighed. She was certain that once Batman woke up, he would have some things to say to her about her actions. Crime was crime after all, and surely there would be consequences for that.

Still, it was worth it. She wanted his disapproval, his stern rebukes, his commanding presence, his...his…

She wanted her father back.

Unfortunately, there was no telling if that would happen. All the doctors she had assess him firmly stated he needed to be monitored in a hospital, but even then there was no telling if her father would wake up. Without that certainty, she refused to take him to such a place. The people that had hurt him would find out and come to finish the job. No way would she allow that to happen.

Suddenly, an alarm sounded off, causing Cassandra to jerk her head to the computer terminal. Over and over, a red light flashed from the panel, causing her to hurry over to it. Coming to stand in front of the terminal, she saw a screen turn on, revealing footage of the outside.

Someone was out there and he was trying to get in.

Frantically, Cassandra looked over to Batman, making a frightened sound. He was still hurt, unconscious, vulnerable.

Immediately, the young girl pulled off her hoodie, yanking it off to reveal her Batgirl armor. Tossing it aside, her pants followed suit and Cassandra stepped over to a little table next to the computer terminal. On it was her gauntlets and masks, which she quickly picked up and slid onto her head.

Next came her gauntlets, which she picked up one at a time and slid onto her hands. She was busy flexing the fingers of one glove when she heard a groaning sound. Snapping her head towards the sealed door, she stared at it, waiting, watching, wondering what threat laid beyond it.

The suspense was dreadful to bear.

Suddenly, the entrance to the room blasted open. The door went sailing through the air, smoke and flames following it until it slammed down onto the floor.

Readying herself, Batgirl stared at the jagged opening, waiting until the invader entered. A man soon emerged through the lingering smoke, large, bulky, and with long hair. His face was unshaven, though it matched with the combat fatigue pants he wore, along with the wife-beater shirt.

"You have run far, young one," the man grunted as he stomped into the room, each footfall bouncing off the metal walls. "But you cannot escape from Trogg."

The man's cold eyes then glanced over to Batman. Immediately, Batgirl moved in between them, making sure this Trogg's attention was fully on her. "You wish to protect your leader. I admire that. I would do the same thing myself.

"However, I will go through you if I must."

"Then you must," Batgirl spat back. "And you will fail."

* * *

It had been some time since she had last set foot in Wayne Tower, a few if not several years, but it had the feel of coming home to Andrea Beaumont. At the same time, it made her feel like she was trespassing. The history she held with the man who owned this building felt like a weight, the proverbial albatross around her neck.

The last time she had been in Gotham, she had felt as if she had begun to mend some of the hurt that had occurred all those years ago. Bruce was more willing to speak with her, but then she had to leave town, and quickly. At least that time, there were no promises made that were to be broken.

As much as she would like to...you know, pick back up, too much time for wounds to fester had taken place. She understood that. A person didn't just leave another's life, pop right back into it, then leave again, and then expect to have a fairy tale ending. That ship had sailed a long time ago.

But that didn't mean they couldn't talk with one another, right? Or be able to hold a simple conversation?

For the time being that would have to wait. Though this was Bruce's place of work, she was here for reasons other than hoping to catch up with someone she still held feelings for. No, business would have to come first, and if there was anything that Andrea was, it was professional.

As it turned out, she didn't need to go too far in Bruce's domain. The person she was seeking out found her first.

"As I live and breath, Ms. Beaumont! I wasn't expecting to see you," Lucius Fox, that man who arguably ran the tight ship that was Wayne Enterprises, greeted her, his voice jovial.

"Good morning, Lucius," she told the dark-skinned man. "I happened to be in town and noticed that there was a meeting scheduled with you. I decided to give Reeves a break and handle it myself. I hope that doesn't ruin today's boy's day in."

"Not at all, Ms. Beaumont, and allow me to say that it is a pleasant and welcome surprise," Lucius dismissed her faux concern. "Come, let's head back to our smoke-filled backroom and handle that Illuminati business that we're allegedly involved with."

"It sounds like someone has been trolling the message boards recently," she jested, heading towards the elevators with Fox accompanying her.

"Not myself, Luke, actually," Lucius replied. "He had a little fun with it this morning and I couldn't resist bringing a little of it with me this morning."

Andrea raised an eyebrow. "Luke?"

"My son, Ms. Beaumont. I would like to say he's a chip off the block, but he's more interested in engineering than business. I have to say, he has better tastes than his father in that regard." Coming to a stop in front of a close set of doors, Lucius reached out and pressed the up button.

"From what I heard, you yourself have an engineering background," the redhead commented back, lips curled up into a small smile.

"Indeed, but I wasn't smart enough to stick with it." Lucius gave a small chuckle. "That's not to say managing Wayne Enterprises hasn't been fulfilling in itself. At least, if you believe what the tabloids say."

"Speaking of which, is Bruce in? I was hoping to see if he had some free time today, unless that dungeon the message boards claim you keep him in when he's not in a monkey suit is also true," Andrea said.

"My apologies, but he's very...tardy today. Probably has a flat tire or something. It is quite a drive from Wayne Manor and some of those roads are isolated. Not every tow truck driver knows how to navigate them."

Something about that explanation seemed...off. She couldn't put her finger exactly on why that was. Maybe it had to do with the fact that it didn't seem like Lucius believed it himself—don't ask how she came to that conclusion. There were things only women's intuition could detect.

Still, she had to try really hard not to let even a little bit of disappointment slip out. "I see. Perhaps another time then."

"Naturally," Lucius agreed. Now her intuition was picking up a pause here. "Ms. Beaumont? If I may, once we're done with your business here, there's something I would like to speak with you about."

"Does it have to do with the other Illuminati dealings?" she jested.

"Something like that. Once we're in a more private setting, there is a...proposition I would like to go over with you," Lucius told her, dangling his proverbial bait in front o her.

"What...kind of proposition are you speaking of?" she asked warily as the elevator in front of them dinged and the doors slid open.

"Something to do with Bruce," Lucius told her frankly. "I know that once upon a time, the two of you were close. Maybe not as much now, but hopefully enough that you are...trustworthy." Without further elaboration, the taller man stepped into the metal container that would be their transport to a higher level in the building. Andrea followed after him, raising another eyebrow as Lucius immediately pressed the button to close the doors immediately.

"I would like to see myself as a trustworthy person, especially in regards to Bruce," Andrea answered frankly.

"I most certainly hope so, for Bruce's sake, Ms. Beaumont," Lucius said as the doors slid closed and blocked the two of them from sight.

* * *

Quincy Sharp leaned over his desk, hands against his head and fingers entwined with his thinning hair. His elbows were pressed onto the polished wooden surface, helping to keep his head propped up.

The last couple of months had been a disaster for Quincy; there was no other way to describe it. Long had he labored on transforming Arkham Asylum into a hybrid of mental health and judicial correctional facilities. That plan had come into fruition as he had expected.

What he had not expected was that the crazies in the asylum ward would stage a break-out. The old man expected it from the criminals—that was their nature. The crazies, on the other hand, were isolated and confined to a different part of the facility and seemed content with that.

Instead, they had broken loose and subsequently released the inmates as well. The halls of Arkham were only just finished being repaired, though some of the damage would require rebuilding whole structures, something that was definitely not in the budget. Make that the reduced budget. Hady had made sure to let him know he was displeased with his performance and whatever funds the City Council provided Arkham had been slashed. It wasn't a big drop considering they were still the only facility in Gotham that could house the animals infesting the city, but it was enough to get his attention.

The only saving grace of this sorry episode was that everyone thought the Joker had staged the break. That clown's reputation was such that no one could fault him for the madman breaking out. That perhaps was why the budget cut wasn't deeper, along with allowing Quincy to maintain his position as warden.

What no one knew was that it wasn't the Joker who had started the riot. One of the first things Quincy had done when he had been appointed to his position was to update the security facility-wide. Cameras were placed throughout the Asylum and the footage transmitted to a secure location on the property.

It was because of this system that Quincy discovered it was the insane shrink that had staged the breakout. He had watched in anger as the elderly man hobbled down the hallways of Arkham, pausing for some reason before heading right for the nearest security station. He had then unlocked all of the cells and announced over the speaker system that the Joker was attempting an escape.

For now, that footage was safely kept in his personal safe in his office. It would never see the light of day and once he left this place, he would have it destroyed. Because of the work crews and the asylum's employees on constant around-the-clock patrols, it would be difficult to sequester them out for their destruction. When operations resumed their normal processes, then he would see to their removal.

There was a knock at his door. Not even bothering to look up, Quincy called out, "Now is not a good time. Come back later." He was in no mood for company at the moment. In truthfulness, it was more likely his secretary would be giving him more upsetting news and he did not want to worry about that too. It could wait until the morning.

Glancing to the digital clock on his desk, Quincy frowned. If he was not mistaken, the secretary should be out to lunch right now. That would preclude all visitation until their return, so no one should have bothered him. Hearing another knock, he dropped his hands from his head and glared at the door. "I said go away," he barked.

Then, most bizarrely, he heard someone say, "Hoot, hoot."

That caused the elderly man to hesitate. That sound, it had come from behind him.

Suddenly, he felt something grab onto his hair and yank his head back, forcing his back to press up against his chair. Cool, sharp steel then press against his throat, causing Quincy to freeze. "Quincy Sharp," a deep, guttural voice spoke.

Quincy swallowed deeply, feeling his Adam's apple rubbing up against the edge of the knife. "N-now l-l-let's not g-get too h-hasty," he stammered out.

"Due to your incompetence, the filth of Gotham has been released. We are not pleased," the voice reprimanded him. "For this, the Court of Owls has sentenced you to die."

Before he could react, the knife bit into his flesh and then slashed to a side. Blood sprayed from his throat as he cried out, gurgling over the blood filling his mouth. Quincy's hands shot up and pressed against his neck, trying to stop the bleeding, but then he began to gag as blood filled up his esophagus, choking him.

Slowly, his eyes began to close as he felt tired. He couldn't keep his hands up and they eventually dropped to hang on the outside of the chair's arms. Darkness soon claimed him as Quincy fell unconscious.

* * *

Batgirl's first worry was that her foe would go after Batman. In his condition, he was completely vulnerable to whatever cruel acts Trogg intended to do to him. So she began circling to aside, drawing the man's attention with her.

Trogg seemed to allow this as he turned to keep her in his light of sight. However, if she thought he was oblivious to his subterfuge, she was mistaken. "Do not think I will spare your master," he told her. "Once I am done with you, he is next."

"You will not touch him," she shot back, shifting into a defensive stance.

That seemed to be all the talk Trogg was willing to allow. Without hesitation, he charged at her, arms pumping at his sides. Batgirl edged backwards as she kept an eye on the arms, no doubt one of them would be drawn back at the last second. It was just a matter of figuring out which one.

As expected, Trogg began to pull an arm back as he closed in on her. However, instead of throwing a punch, he leapt into the air, raising a leg up and leading with it. His knee rammed into the girl's chest, knocking her backwards. Surprised and stunned, Batgirl went flying backwards, managing to land on her feet, though she skidded across the floor some distance before she stopped.

The moment Trogg landed back on the floor, he closed the distance between them quickly, throwing a fist right for her head. The dark-clad girl jerked her head backwards, narrowing dodging the punch as it flew in front of her face. However, the moment the man's elbow came into view, it suddenly bent and was shot forward, ramming into her face.

Batgirl cried out as she stumbled backwards, raising her hands up to her face. That's when Trogg's larger hand suddenly clamped down on one of her wrists and she felt her arm be jerked upwards. This caused her to be lifted right off the ground, dangling from the brute's grip.

Though dazed, Batgirl wasn't so far gone when she saw Trogg's other arm draw back before it came swinging towards her, heading right for her stomach. Moving her free hand, she managed to catch the fist with her smaller hand, though that didn't stop it from hitting her stomach. The back of her own hand collided with her abdomen, cushioning from the full force of Trogg's blow.

Gritting her teeth, Batgirl then yanked Trogg's hand to a side, pulling her confined arm down. Due to her foe resisting her pulling, this caused the girl to rise upwards—just as she intended. Swinging one of her legs up, she landed a kick to Trogg's chin, causing the man's head to snap backwards.

However, he didn't release his hold of her. With her extended leg, she brought it down on top of Trogg's shoulder, using it to brace herself as she raised up her other leg, bending it at the knee until the knee was by her chest. Batgirl then lashed out with it the moment she saw her opponent move his head forward, slamming the bottom of her foot against his face. Again, Trogg's head jerked backwards, Batgirl bringing her leg back before she stomped his face again.

There would be no third time, however. As Batgirl moved her leg back and then kicked it out again, Trogg suddenly shot his free hand up and caught her attack, his fingers wrapping around her ankle. Growling at her even as a trail of blood trickled from his nose, the brute began to spin around in a circle, which also spun the young girl too. Letting out a yell, he suddenly released her, sending the vigilante flying through the air.

Allowing herself to sail through the air, Batgirl pressed her legs together before she flung them upwards, leaning backwards as she went into a flip. The moment gravity began to pull down on her, she was in the downward swing of her flip, landing on the floor with her feet, facing her foe.

By then, Trogg was charging at her again. Quickly, Batgirl had a batarang in hand and sent it flying at her rushing foe. Seeing it coming at him, Trogg put the brakes on, skidding across the floor even as he leaned backwards as best he could. The batarang whirled right by his face, the man baring his teeth for a moment.

At first, Batgirl didn't think her shuriken had landed. However, she then noticed a red line begin to from on Trogg's cheek, starting just above the jawline and curing upward until it reached the far side of the eye. "You'll pay for that," he threatened her.

Batgirl raised her arms up, moving one leg forward as the other slid back, the costumed girl taking a defensive stance. "Like to see you try."

Trogg snarled before he lunged at her, throwing a punch at her head. Batgirl darted to side, moving inward as the man's arm sailed right over her shoulder. Immediately, she thrust her arm up, attempting to land a palm strike to his chin.

Only for Trogg's other hand to stop the attack in its tracks, grabbing only her wrist before her palm reached his chin. Using his momentum to his advantage, the brute shot a leg up, bending it at the knee. His knee rammed right into her stomach, causing her to bend over it as the air in her lungs was knocked out. With his extended arm, he raised it upward, bending it at the elbow, then swung it down. His elbow nailed her on the back of her head, causing stars to explode before her eyes, a cry of pain tearing out of her mouth.

Again, he maneuvered his raised arm until it was beneath her so that he could wrap his fingers around her throat. Letting go of her arm with his other hand, Trogg then let out a roar as he lifted the girl right off the ground. He took a step forward before he forced Batgirl down, kneeling down so that he could slam her back down on the ground.

Batgirl cried out once more as her legs stick up into the air above her. This, however, proved helpful as Trogg let go of her throat, moving to stand up. Though she was oxygen deprived and pain was running up and down her back, she immediately brought her legs down, tucking them in as her knees reached her chest. Without hesitating, she lashed out with her legs, slamming her feet against Trogg's chest. The kick pushed the man back, only a couple of steps, but it was enough.

Sucking in a deep breath, Batgirl again coiled her legs up to her body, using her momentum to go into a roll. She could feel the strain in her body as the floor moved up to her shoulders, then her neck and head. A moment later and her feet hit the ground, the vigilante whipping her head up as she stood crouched on the floor.

Only to see that Trogg had immediately closed the distance between them, launching a kick at her face—she knew this because she saw the sole of his boot flying right towards her. Jerking to a side, Trogg's foot sailed right be her head and over her shoulder.

In an instant, she shot both of her arms up, wrapping them around her foe's leg. Letting out a war cry, Batgirl sprang upward, causing Trogg to tilt backwards until he lost his balance. The man's eyes widened as he tipped over, falling to the floor and landing on his back.

Letting go of his leg, Batgirl backed up, putting some distance between them. Panting over and over, she sucked in as much air as she could, trying to recover. This man, he knew how to fight. It was not the refined style of Batman, or the assassins she had been trained with. She had referred to him as a brute and he fought very much like one. Unfortunately, that meant he had greater strength than her and with his skill level, he was very challenging.

Perhaps, too much of a challenge she feared.

If she had thought her ability to read people was returning to what they once were, Trogg was proving that wasn't so. He would feint as he moved, allowing him to strike where she least expected it. When she read punched, he kneed her. When she though he was going to trick her again, he played it straight and punched. Each successful hit weakened her, shaking her confidence.

Pushing himself up, Trogg grunted as he looked at her, climbing back onto his feet. "I had heard of your fighting prowess, girl," he told her, his posture shifting as he prepared to go on the offensive. "I find that they are highly overrated."

Then he began walking towards her, completely different from his previous charges. Batgirl edged backwards, keeping her hands raised in front of her, ready for anything.

At the last moment, Trogg lunged at her, leading with a raised knee. In response, the vigilante jumped up into the air, shooting a hand down to slap down on top of her foe's thigh. Pushing down on it, she raised herself higher while simultaneously throwing an uppercut, one she successfully landed against Trogg's chin. His head jerked up, but then he immediately tilted his head down the moment the both of them touched back on the ground.

Arms shooting up, he held his hands as fists before he swung them down, the bottom of his fists slamming down on Batgirl's shoulders. A cry tore from her lips as she flinched downward. The next thing she knew, Trogg has lunged at her again, this time with his arms held out widely at his sides. Swinging them inward, he wrapped them around her body, pinning her arms to her sides. With ease, he raised her up into the air and began squeezing.

Again, Batgirl cried out, the pressure she felt around her waist growing tighter and tighter. Her head jerked back as she looked up to the ceiling, her body squirm as she thrashed, trying in vain to free herself.

"It's over, girl," Trogg crowed. "Like my master before me, I will break you like he has done to yours."

The young vigilante whimpered as a jolt of pain ripped through her ribs and chest. She almost felt as if she were suffocating, each breath becoming harder to take. Steadily, her head began to tilt to a side, her eyes falling onto Batman. He still laid on the table, helpless just as she was. She could not help him, not anymore. She had failed in her duty as his daughter. She focused her attention on his face for one last time, soaking in his relaxed features, imaging them in their normally stern expressions. His hair was shellacked to his head much like it usually was after a long night of patrol.

His eyes cracked open as he looked back at her.

Batgirl froze. Was...was he…? He was looking at her, watching her.

He was finally awake.

A stab of pain raced through her body starting at her abdomen, causing her to return her attention to Trogg. This man, he could not have his way. Not now, not when her father had finally come back. She could not lose now.

She would not lose!

Instinct began to kick in, to continue her struggle, but Batgirl immediately clamped down on it. That was now how she had been trained. She needed to assess the situation in the blink of an eye. Currently she was being held off the floor, her legs dangling beneath her. Trogg's arms firmly held her arms at her sides, his biceps pressed just below her elbows. Due to the bear hug, he was entirely defenseless.

She knew what she needed to do.

"Release!" she shouted, instantly feeling her gauntlets loosen on her hands and forearms. Yanking her arms up, they slid out of their armor, revealing her bare hands to the cool air of the room. Before Trogg could even process what she had done, she shot her hands to his face, her fingers clamping down onto the side of his head as she dug her thumbs right into his eyes.

The result was instantaneous. Trogg screamed as he jerked his head back, but was unable to remove himself from her grasp. Batgirl could feel warm liquid against her thumbs, seeing red blood trickling down the contours of the brute's nose.

And then Trogg released her, his arms whipping away from her as the shot up to his face. Immediately, Batgirl dropped to the floor while she pulled her hands away, landing crouched on the ground. At her feet were her gauntlets, lying discarded. Grabbing one, she shoved her hand back into it, all the while watching as Trogg stumbled backwards several steps, his palms pressed against his eyes. He was screaming in pain, twisting his torso back and forth as if that would relieve the agony he felt.

By then, Batgirl had her last gauntlet back on, the girl standing to her full height and marching right towards him. Trogg had finally stopped his thrashing by the time she was right in front of him, moving his hands off his face as he glared at her through squinted eyes, tears of blood leaving multiple trails beneath his eyelids.

In an instant, Batgirl slammed a fist right into the man's face, nailing him right in the nose. She could feel cartilage snap beneath her knuckles, something she found satisfying. Trogg jerked back a step as his face cringed from his nose broken nose. Again, one of his hands found its way to cover his face.

Movement out of the corner of her told her to move. Backing up a step, Batgirl dodged Trogg's arm as he swiped at her with it, his hand open and looking more like the claws of an animal. However, he then closed his fingers inward, making a fist, which he then swung back as a backhand blow.

Batgirl ducked the clumsy attempt and found herself right in front of a wide-open Trogg. This time, she gave into instinct as she darted forward, her muscles recalling one of the first combinations they were taught.

Launching a fist, she slammed it into the man's solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him as he gasped. In an instant, her other hand shot up, fingers curled inward and palm prominent. Her palm collided with the underside of the brute's chin, causing his head to snap upward, revealing his vulnerable throat.

However, unlike the Talon strike she had been taught to rip open her opponent's throat, Batgirl pressed her fingers together, thumb curled into the palm. Quickly, she crossed her arm over her chest and then swung it out, delivering a chop to Trogg's exposed throat, gagging him as he let out a choked gasp.

Batman would've been proud of that blow.

Not finished, Batgirl drew back a leg and then swung it low and sideways, landing a kick to the inside of Trogg's knee. The hit caused his leg to buckle, the man stumbling to a side. Turning her body to one side, Batgirl held both of her fists up and away from her body before she spun back around. She landed a backhand blow to Trogg's face, which was quickly followed by a second punch to the side of his head.

Spinning around completely, cape billowing behind her, Batgirl soon was looking back at Trogg, seeing the dazed look on his face. He then dropped to his knees, wobbly holding himself up. Though her ability to read her foe was diminished, that had not taken away the knowledge of how to hit someone really hard.

And Trogg was feeling every hit she had landed.

"You know, I'm glad I am the one fighting you," she told him, causing the man to tilted his head as he looked at her dazed. "You are not worth _his_ time."

And then she leaped up into the air, spinning once more. Extending a leg out, she lashed out with it as she performed a spinning kick, her foot slamming into Trogg's face and immediately sent him crashing down to the floor. By the time she landed, he was lying still, his eyes rolled up into his skull.

Batgirl stared down at him for a moment, long enough to make sure he was still breathing. Then she jerked her head towards Batman, all but rushing over to him. She skidded to a stop at his table, looking over him frantically.

Unfortunately, his eyes were closed, much to her dismay. Had they even been open earlier, when she had been in that brute's stranglehold? Had the lights in this place played tricks with her mind? Looking down at him, she couldn't help but notice that his head was tilted to a side; she was positive it had been facing upward at the start of her fight. It was right where it needed to be so that he could see her fight.

She closed her eyes then and let out a deep sigh. It did not matter, not really. The main threat to his welfare was no more. She could take solace in that.

That's when she felt it. Somewhere behind her, there was a presence. One moment it had not been there, the next it was. Had Trogg brought backup?

Batgirl's features hardened. It did not matter. If they thought they could do what Trogg could not, they would be sadly mistaken. Slowly, she retrieved a batarang from her belt, holding it in her hand as she mentally prepared herself.

She then spun around, coming to stand with her legs spread, one in front and the other in the back. She shot one hand out in front of her, palm pointed towards her new foe, holding her batarang up above and behind her head.

* * *

To Guest: Well, it's pretty obvious who was following Cassandra. I had a hint ready and everything too


	11. No One Is Safe

Given the state of things in the city, it could be forgiven that the GCPD was not quick to act when a murder was reported. Compared to Chicago, their response was reasonable.

That this report was coming from Arkham had the Commissioner scrambling, and it was the Lieutenant herself who was responding to the call. The scene itself was bloody, but Sarah had seen much worse.

The victim was where the surprise was. It seemed like someone really had it out for Quincy Sharp. He was slumped back in a rotating, wheeled chair that was located behind a large, wooden desk. His arms dangled on either side of the chair's armrests and Sharp's head was slumped forward. An enormous stain of blood stretched down the front of his suit and flowed off the corpse to the carpeted floor below, forming a rather large puddle.

It didn't take a genius to figure out where the wound was. Still, confirmation of the slash to the elder man's neck was all she needed to know about the cause of death. Following the trail of blood from there, she could see the splatter on the desk, stretching out behind the far edge of the piece of furniture and probably getting the carpeting on the far end of the office.

Other than that, the place was untouched. There was no sign of anyone rifling through the desk or the cabinets, or even Sharp's clothes. There were no signs of forced entry either, for whatever that was worth. Judging by the lack of defensive wounds, the murderer had gotten the jump on the administrator, most likely had their weapon of choice against Sharp's neck before the man had realized what was going on.

So quick, efficient. Someone knew what they were doing. That immediately ruled out a disgruntled employee in her mind. Jim had background checks on all Arkham employees performed when Sharp was arranging for the inflow of convicts into the asylum. All had come back clean, save for the occasional speeding ticket. Now the question was who had motive? Who wanted Sharp dead? Based on his past, as well as what knowledge she had on him, the Lieutenant figured that there was a long list of people who would love nothing more than to see this man six feet under. It could be criminals in the prison he had been warden of prior to his transfer to Arkham. A political rival was another suspect. Hell, Warden Zorbatos over at Blackgate was a category all of her own.

Yet, Gordon had a feeling it wasn't the embattled warden. Zorbatos had enough problems as it was. Why risk bringing another firestorm on her head? That would leave the other two theories that had already come to mind. She could easily see a convict getting their hands on a key to Sharp's office from a guard, overpowering them, and then quickly going after Sharp. And Lord knew how many rivals Sharp had made for himself since arriving in Gotham.

However, she had also come up with a fourth theory.

See, a mask had been left on Sharp's desk and in plain sight. The killer had wanted it found.

Someone was trying to put the blame on the Court of Owls.

Thanks to efforts after that horrible night when so many officials and persons of prominence in the city had been targeted for assassination, someone had been doing a good job bringing anyone and everyone involved with it to justice. Each and every time a court member was brought in, one of the blank, white owl masks was admitted into evidence alongside the man or woman to the holding cells.

And now one of those masks was here in Arkham Asylum.

Let's say, for the sake of argument, that not all members of the Court of Owls were apprehended, that there were still a few lurking about, why would they want someone like Sharp dead? According to the Commissioner, Sharp was on his way out, Mayor Hady doing his damnedest at damage control, as well as throwing Sharp under the bus. He was leaving, so why kill him now?

That was even taking into account that the Court had any financial resources left that weren't being used to fund their typical extravagant lifestyles.

About the only thing Sarah could up up with that was reasonable was that the Court was upset with Sharp and wanted to get rid of him. Of course, that made more sense if they were still hiding in the shadows, pulling at the heartstrings of Gotham still. Maybe this was more like they were trying to show the world they were still out there, still watching, still plotting.

The Lieutenant sighed. The only thing that most would agree with was that this was the last thing any of them needed. First Blackgate, then Pamela Isley, the one-two combo of Bane and the Arkham escapees, and now the apparent return of the Court of Owls.

"Who else wants to make this worse?" Sarah grumbled as she turned away from the scene. There was a report Jim was expecting on this, and it was best to get it over with.

* * *

The van slowed to a stop, the brakes squealing as they provided friction to the tires. In the back of the van, several men in black combat fatigues did last minute checks of their equipment. Machine guns were loaded and extra magazines shoved into holsters on bulletproof vests. Each man had a couple grenades attached to the vests as well. Canisters of smoke grenades dangled from loops on their belts. A couple even had holsters for their knives in plain sight, either attached to their vest, or to the belts at their waist.

For Juan, this was just another stop in their entrenched battle for Gotham. The main stumbling blocks had been removed, including the last vestiges of organized crime. He couldn't help but snort at that. He came from lands in firm control of the cartels and there was no way they would allow themselves to be beaten into such a sorry state as these wannabe gangsters.

"Lock and load," someone from the front of the van ordered. "It's go time."

As it so happened, Juan was sitting at the back, so this allowed him to grab hold of the door handle and turn it, opening the backdoor of the van. Shoving it open, he jumped out, his feet landing on the pavement. Assault rifle pointed up with its butt pressed into his shoulder, Juan made a beeline for the building the van was parked in front of.

Though they had crushed the main resistance of the Italian Mob a couple nights ago, there were still small pockets of the crime family still fighting. This building was one such place. Thanks to their intel from Bird, they would be in and out easily, dispatching these bastardos. Only a handful of Italians were holed up in here, definitely on the upper floor, but possibly the ground floor as well. Let it be said that anyone that stood up to Bane did not live very long.

Rushing up to the door, Juan positioned himself next to it, his side pressed into the building's face. Pedro copied him as he took the position on the opposite side of the door. The others began to line up behind them, ready for breach.

That's when Juan moved in front of the door and reared back, kicking the door with his foot. The sorry excuse for a door was kicked in, swinging widely. Immediately, he charged in, Pedro following in after him. Between the two of them, they checked opposite corners of the room, even as they moved further in, the rest of their team filing in after them.

However, by the time Juan reached the center of the room, he came to a stop. While the room was dark, the ambient light from the outside was flooding inside through the open doorway. Because of this, Juan was starting to notice the place was a wreck.

Lying on the floor, he saw the bodies of several men, all of whom were still. Blood was pooling around them, along with spatters on the walls. Slowly, the Hispanic man knelt down and reached a hand out. He dipped his fingertips into the blood and felt how warm it was. "Blood's warm," he reported gruffly. "This just happened minutes ago."

"Someone beat us to the job," someone else grumbled. "What a waste of time. What a—"

That's when the light entering the building began to disappear, the door to the room swinging shut. "Get out lights!" someone demanded, and Juan shot a hand to his belt. Grabbing hold of a glow stick, he cracked it, which allowed a green light to light up the room. Several other glow sticks lit up as well.

That's when he saw them. It was as if they had appeared out of thin air. Mingled between the mercenaries were perhaps four, maybe five men in head-to-toe bodysuits. Goggles were positioned where their eyes were supposed to be and they each held swords in their hands.

Swords that were still dripping with blood.

"They're right here!" someone exclaimed, causing all of Bane's men to train their guns on the...whatever they were, freaking ninjas maybe. However, Pedro and one other weren't so luck as the ninjas immediately went into action, flashes of steel cutting through the air and biting into flesh. Juan watched as a man had his arm sliced off, causing him to scream as blood sprayed out of his newly-made stump. Pedro had a sword stabbed right into his chest, the end of the blade sliding through his body and out of his back. Pedro gagged before the sword was yanked out of him, the man falling to his knees, only for the sword to whip around in the air before slashing downwards and cutting his head right off of his shoulders.

"Hijo de puta!" someone roared and that's when the gunfire erupted. The room lit up with the light created by the firing bullets.

However, that created a strobe effect, causing the room to flash over and over with light. Because of this, Juan watched even as he emptied his magazine the ninjas moving throughout the room in bursts. One moment they were standing, the next they were a few feet to a side, the next one had a ninja and his sword decapitating another mercenary while another was chopping a gun in half. Another moment and Juan saw a comrade have his legs be sliced off, one of the ninja's crouched lowly with his sword completing its swing, currently being held out to one side.

It occurred right then to Juan just what was happening. This was an ambush and they had walked right into it. _Estupido_! Finishing his clip, Juan quickly pulled it out, reaching for another magazine.

Unfortunately, that's when one of the ninjas turned their attention to him. Before he could finish his reload, the man was upon him, swinging his sword from above his head downward. Yelping, Juan jumped backwards to avoid the attack, feeling the breeze the sword strike made as it passed right in front of him.

The ninja didn't seem the least bit perturbed by this. Quickly, he raised his sword back up, but held it to one side. Again, Juan jerked backwards as his opponent swung his blade from one side to the other. However, he wasn't as fortunate as he felt the edge of the sword cut into his side, slicing right through the kevlar he wore. Pain ripped into his body, causing him to cry out as he stumbled backwards, his back coming to hit against the far wall. Instinctively, he dropped a hand to a side, feeling blood leaking out of a cut that started at the side of his hip and ended an inch or two away from his belly button.

That had been a mistake. As he had examined himself, the ninja had brought his sword up, holding the handle with both hands at shoulder height, the tip pointed right at him. Behind the ninja, Juan could see the last few men of his team being cut down, not a single one of them having successfully shot one of the masked men.

And then the ninja in front of him drove his sword forward, impaling Juan in the face.

* * *

It was incredibly easy to keep yourself hidden in another person's home without them learning of your presence. The Phantasm had staked out David Franco's condo, secreting itself inside and waiting for its opportunity to strike. Unfortunately, Franco's wife and children had been there as well, thus increasing the difficulty in remaining hidden.

But it had been successful. The children were leaving for the night, spending it with friends. The wife had decided last minute to have a girls' night out and Franco was choosing to stay in, slouched on the living room couch with the plasma television on, a show from one of the movie channels playing on screen.

The wife had taken a moment to ask something from her husband, the man grunting and answering half-heartedly. The long awaited opportunity to strike was at hand. However, it was sometimes best to wait, allow some time to pass. Ordinary people made mistakes, such as forgetting car keys, or purses, or wallets. Such mistakes shrunk windows of opportunity as well as the possible time of death. It was in no hurry and did not wish to be interrupted.

So it waited, allowing for one program to become another, Franco only getting up once to head for the kitchen and indulge in a beer.

Then the Phantasm released its misty smoke, allowing it to fill a corner of the living room and then waited as it spread out. Eventually, Franco noticed something was amiss. His head turned away from the television and honed in on the smoke. There was a delay in reaction, but when the targeted man did, it was within expectations. A swear and now he was standing up, putting some distance between himself and the smoke.

And now was the time.

"David Franco."

"What the!" Franco's attention snapped away from the smoke and settled on the emerging form of the masked killer.

"Your angel of death awaits."

Franco's eyes were bulging in his sockets, not a pleasant sight due to the thinness of his head and highness of his cheekbones. "You! What are you..? Keep away from me!" The panicked man was backing away, a hand held out behind him and reaching for a side table.

Predictable. In response, the Phantasm lunged forth, leaping over the couch, with the scythe-like blade that was its right hand swinging out from beneath its cloak-like cape. Franco yelped and threw himself to a side as the blade plunged down and into the side table, fake wood splintering as the table broke into pieces.

Ripping the blade away, the ruined piece of furniture fell to the floor where a gun tumbled out of it. Obviously, Franco had hidden the gun there and had been attempting to retrieve it. Again, so predictable. Stepping over the weapon, the Phantasm continued its pursuit, chasing the fleeing man into a hallway. Franco hadn't gone very far and it was easy enough to catch up with him next to an open doorway. Grabbing Franco, the masked killer shoved its prey into the small room, the terrified man running into the tiled wall of a bathroom.

As Franco as pushing himself from the wall, the Phantasm grabbed him from behind and spun him around, However, Franco was not yet out of fighting spirit. With a cry, the cornered man swung a fist into the hooded killer's mask and instantly regretted it telling by his cry of pain. For his effort, the Phantasm backhanded the man with its fist, Franco stumbling to a side and falling into the bathtub, ripping the shower curtain down with him. Trying to stop his fall, Franco accidentally grabbed and twisted the shower knobs, turning on the water.

Taking a step back, it reached out and took hold of a hair dryer, turning it on as the hair dryer began to blow hot air. It was loud and annoying and the drone echoed off of the bathroom walls, but the Phantasm was able to endure it. It needed a source for electricity and this was the most easily accessible source. Silently, it waited for Franco to spot the device and freeze up.

Franco swallowed audibly. "W-what do y-y-you want?"

"I have questions for you, Mr. Franco." The soulless eyes of the murderer bored into its prey.

"...uh…" Too scared to say anything. So be it.

"Where is Hugo Strange?"

A look of confusion fell over Franco's face. "Strange? Why do you want to know about him?"

The Phantasm held the hair dryer closer to the drenched man.

"Okay, okay, okay! Just keep that thing away from me!" Franco yelped.

"Where is Hugo Strange?" the Phantasm demanded again.

"I don't know where he is," Franco said quickly, his speech rapid. "I just remember him showing up a few weeks ago and then everything's a blank. I think he might've put me into a trance, or something. He's been known to do that."

"Why would he see you?"

"I don't know. Safehouse, maybe? Sionis wanted a bunch of them back in the day. Gave a few members the locations written on pieces of paper that we were only suppose to give out in an emergency," Franco explained. "We weren't allowed to look at them so that we couldn't tell anyone where they were. We were just supposed to give them out if we had to. If the cops came for us, we had orders to burn them. That way if anyone got nabbed, no one would be able to say where one was. I bet Strange wanted the address I had."

It seemed like Crane's lead was worth the visit, yet at the same time almost a dead end. A location didn't appear to be obtainable. While some would scoff or disbelieve such a claim like Franco's, the Phantasm knew who Sionis was and what he was capable of demanding. Sionis was a paranoid man and the lengths to which he had gone to ensure his safety were great indeed. That he was still out there, in hiding, who knew when he would show up again and wanting a show of loyalty? Even now, he inspired fear in his underlings.

However, it paid off to be thorough.

"What was the address?"

"I told you, I don't know! I never looked at it! I did what I was told to do. The only time I ever gave it out was years ago, when I met that guy, the one who made that poison that makes you afraid!" Franco exclaimed.

"And did you receive another address after giving that one out?" the Phantasm pressed.

Franco paused. "Y...yes."

"Did you not look at it once after Operation Dread?"

It was barely there, but Franco hesitated. He had.

"Where?"

"I didn't look at it again, and that was years ago!" Franco protested. "I just remember that it's somewhere in the south side of Gotham. Close to the industrial sector. The street begins with a P. That's all I remember!"

Better.

"Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Franco," the Phantasm spoke, allowing its cloud of smoke to obscure it from sight. It now had a smaller area to investigate, which meant it was so much closer to its true prey now.

Before it forgot, there was still the matter of Franco and his association with the False Face Society. So far, all it had encountered were dead and Franco was still alive. Without a second thought, it tossed the hair dryer into the spewing water.

It also ignored Franco's screams and the sounds of electrocution.

* * *

"Extraordinary," Strange remarked, feeling an unfamiliar sensation in his body. Was this what it meant to be breathless? Speechless? In awe?

He had played it safe, watched and observed every change, every reaction, and every response his test subject had given while he had, ahem, tested his brainchild. It was marvelous. Truly. And to think it was his superior mind that had created... _this_.

His lips curved into a malicious smirk.

Oh yes. _Oh yes…_ Finally, his genius was reaping such a promising fruit. He had chosen his proverbial guinea pig well. Still alive, still sedated, and still imprisoned under his chemical-based control. There was little need for physical restraints as the compounds kept Little Mario mentally sedated. The Italian was proving himself phenomenally as a true inheritor of his remarkable name.

But he digressed. While Strange could pat himself on the back for his achievement, he was not so blinded by pride to think that his work was finish. Nay, far from it. Appearance-wise, Mario's transformation was a wonder to behold. That was just it, appearance-wise. Sure, Strange had been testing the transformed man as extensively as he could, given the circumstances and location they were in.

It only gave an idea as to what his serum was capable of. The true scope of the formula's promise continued to remain a mystery.

It was fortunate that Strange knew how to go about finding that precious information. It wouldn't be the first time he had used Gotham as a testing ground for his projects. The city was a place that could throw multiple variables at you, ones never before conceived. When it came to experimentation, it was these variables that determined the outcome, however they should come to be. What better place than this city to really show off what his creation was capable of?

"You have been performing well, Little Mario," Strange praised as he stalked around the hulking figure that was the result of his genius, circling around him as he admired his work. Muscles bulged from every visible area along with an excessive amount of hair growing around the lower arms, lower legs, and chest. There were even the trademark steroid hairs on Mario's enlarged shoulders.

What had once been a smooth, almost suave Italian face was now contorted in the cheeks and a pronounced brow. This was more of a face for a brute than a self-proclaimed man of sophistication, a neanderthal than a scion of organized crime. Perhaps that aspect of his formula needed to be refined a bit, but nonetheless, Strange was content with the metamorphosis for now.

Only a shredded piece of pants contained Mario's modesty, not that Mario was concerned with such a thing anymore. And if Mario was unconcerned by his state of dress then why should he?

"However, I wish to see all you are capable of," the brilliant shrink continued coming to stop in front of his creation, looking up into empty eyes devoid of any sign of intelligence. The drugs he had in the man's system were still strong, making him more than susceptible to Strange's "suggestions."

To emphasized this, there was not even a grunt from that swollen neck. Hm, there was even a little drool leaking from the corner of his mouth.

Leaning forward, almost in a confidential manner, Strange explained, "I want you to go out into the city. I want you to go into a rage. Show me your new strength. Show me that you are not a man to be messed with. Prove to everyone why no one disrespects a Falcone.

"And if anyone tries to stop you, kill them."

There was a groan, low and rumbling, but nothing else from Mario. It seemed his words had finally touched upon some form of intelligence within Mario's sedated mind. Very good.

"Go on now," Strange cajoled, stepping away and strolling towards the small hallway that led to the front door. Opening it, he stood aside, waiting for the massive hulk to lumber towards and then pass by him into the hallway. It would take a little time for the drugs to wear off, but by then the brute should be far enough away that the former psychiatrist would be more than safe.

Shutting the door behind Mario, Strange returned to the living room of this safehouse with an eagerness in his step. Like when he had released the colony of Man-Bats all those years ago, it was now time for him to wait and watch. See how his latest creation would fare.

After all, he had a greater design in mind. Soon all those other mortals would realize it. In the meantime, he would return to another aspect of it, make sure that it was worthy of his high standards.

He would be ready when it was his time to take center stage.

* * *

To Guest: And definitely bad news for Gotham. They don't need anymore people causing trouble


	12. The Monster Man

The glow of the computer monitors gave the room a greenish tint. Barbara's eyes flickered from one screen to the next, pausing only long enough to tap a few keys. Then it was onto the next screen.

Dinner had been a lukewarm affair—microwaved lasagna. Processed cheese on frozen meat and heated pasta with a splash of tomato sauce. Yum.

However, either the pasta was causing some indigestion, or there was something going on in Gotham. In these weary times, that could be just about anything honestly.

From her monitors, Barbara could see people running. That was because most of the cars had already fled the area, leaving only the laggers on foot. Still, you didn't see people running for just anything. A missed bus, maybe; fleeing a mugging, sure, that happened more regularly than desired.

But this was a crowd of people and they were doing whatever they could to get away from something. Some were on the sidewalk while others were on the street, dodging around parked and abandoned cars.

The first thing the redhead had thought was that Bane was up to something. Yet, there was a distinct lack of mercenaries and gunfire. In fact, there wasn't so much as a battlefield as much as it was a zombie-less zombie apocalypse. So she felt confident in ruling the brute out. Her next thought was the Demon's Fang, but that had been dismissed faster than Bane. As galling as it was to still have nothing to show for all her hours of investigation, she figured a group that managed to bury itself in secrecy would not just throw itself into the public domain.

Next was the thought of the remaining criminal element not associated with Bane, but again, the lack of gunfire ruled them out as well. So now she was searching every traffic camera, security camera, and satellite coverage to find what the hell was just going on.

That's when she found it. In the heart of downtown Gotham, there was this misshapen thing. Staring at the screen, Barbara watched as it lumbered over to a parked car and swung one of its bulky hands up into the air, then bashing its fist on top of the vehicle's truck. It repeated this action again before it changed tactics, grabbing the car on either side of its rear bumper. With incredible strength, it lifted the car up into the air before it twisted its body around and threw the car, sending it tumbling through the air. The car ended up crashing into the wall of a building, where the engine ended up exploding, creating a large fireball.

Well, at least she knew what everyone was running from.

No doubt the police would be rushing over to handle this, but considering the beating the GCPD had been taking lately, Barbara felt that perhaps they weren't the people needed for this job. This wasn't just another problem the city didn't need, but an opportunity.

"Nightwing, come in," Barbara spoke into her mic.

It took a few moments before her comrade answered her hail. " _What is it, Oracle?"_

"We've got a situation in downtown Gotham. There's this…" Well, what was it she was looking at? It wasn't exactly a man, but it had its shape somewhat. "...monster man trashing the place. He's big, very strong, and—" Oh great, now it looked like it was letting out a roar as it threw its arms out to its sides and looked upwards, its mouth gaping wide as it bellowed. "—it looks like he has a temper. I'm calling in the Network on this one."

" _And what makes you think we're ready for a monster man?"_ the vigilante asked.

"Because that's the job; take it or leave it." Barbara couldn't help but frown at her mic. That didn't sound like Dick, but then he had been depressed lately. "I'm just letting you know first. I'm calling Huntress and the Birds next."

There was a pause before she got a reply. " _Alright, you get a hold of them and I'll contact Tim and the Batclan. Where is it we're heading again?"_

Now that was better. "Just head downtown. Meet at the Cale Anderson building. Trust me, you won't be able to miss this."

* * *

It was all starting to make sense. Science was a wondrous marvel, allowing possibilities that hadn't existed before. Fingerprints, ultraviolet light, light spectrum analysis, microscopic analysis, the list just went on and on.

It was no wonder that the police were so gung ho about forensics!

Twisting a knob to a microscope, Bat-Joker looked into the eyepiece, watching as the sights adjusted to give him a better view. It was incredible what he was seeing. He was staring into a whole other world, one of these little chambers stacked on top of each other. It was like they were...were...cells or something. In this case, they weren't active, having died out a long time ago. They looked like hollowed out husks.

There were even colors too. Most of the sample was green, but towards one end it became darker brown, a few shades lighter than black.

Sliding the slide out of the microscope, Bat-Joker held the slide up to the lights in the ceiling. "I need to redo my hair," he commented as he stared at the offending hair. Then with a shrug, he tossed the slide over his shoulder, ignoring it once it hit the floor, the sound of glass breaking reaching his ears.

Alright, the test run was finished; now it was time to get down to business and put GothCorp's lab to use. Reaching to his belt, he fiddled with one of the pouches, opening it, and stuck his hand inside. He then pulled a Ziploc sandwich bag and stared at the single, solitary clue within.

A bologna sandwich.

No, wait, wait. That wasn't the clue, that was his lunch.

Pausing for a moment, Bat-Joker leaned towards the sandwich and opened the bag, his nose wrinkling from the stench. It looked like even processed bologna could expire. It had only been two months after all.

For a moment, he thought of tossing the sandwich away before he paused. Perhaps that was being too rash. If the smell was an indication—and Lord Almighty it was—he could use this. One never knew when they needed an impromptu stink bomb. Sealing the bag, he shoved it back into the open pouch, resuming his search before he pulled out another Ziploc bag.

Aha! Here was the clue—for real this time. To a layman, it didn't look like much, but to a sophisticated mind like his, it spoke volumes. What lay in the bag was so small, so insignificant that it would normally be dismissed without a second thought. Well, Bat-Joker had a second thought, and then a third, and then a fourth.

Grime; his clue was grime collected from the pants of one of the black-dressed gunmen that seemed to hang around this Bane fellow he had been hearing about. Again, no one would've paid it much mind, but to the World's Second Greatest Detective, it screamed CLUE around his third thought.

And what a sample he had collected. Opening the bag, he immediately got to work. Turning the bag inside out so that he could get at the sticky, drying grime, he then took a metal pick and got to work. First, he took a small sample and placed it on a petri dish; the next sample found its way on to a microscope slide. After placing the slide in the microscope, Bat-Joker went about gathering a bunch of chemicals and began mixing, creating a solution of blue fluid in a thin vial, one that he then took a small piece of the sample on the petri dish, and dropped into the vial.

That done, he then found a machine to analyze his little creation, shoving the vial into the machine and starting the analysis. Now, while that was doing its business, he'd kill some time with the microscope.

Peering through the scope, Bat-Joker was pleasantly pleased that he had the sights already adjusted—thank you hair follicle! Shifting the stage to a side, he got a better look at the grime and studied it...and studied…studied...stuuuuuudied...

He really wasn't finding anything special about it. Well, this was a bust. Who knew a sticky brownish-black substance would be so undefined? Maybe that was why he was only the Second Greatest rather than the Greatest.

Looking away from the microscope, Bat-Joker checked the timer on his computer analysis thing and found...only sixty seconds had passed. What the hell?! It needed longer than a minute to run?! What a gyp!

As it turned out, it needed 900 seconds—that's fifteen minutes for those counting at home. Bat-Joker had spent that time looking at the—what he was affectionately calling—sludge in the microscope about nine more times, scratched his head at the remains of his clue on the plastic bag, took a small piece and set it on fire for shits and giggles, and then cleaned out his belly button. It was tedious work—especially that last one—but it needed to be done— _especially_ that last one.

Thankfully, the computer rang a little alarm, proclaiming it was finished. Hurrying over to the computer, pulling his Bat-shirt down over his belly, Bat-Joker looked at the screen, greedily reading the results.

What the heck did polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbon mean?

Bat-Joker looked from the computer screen to what was left of his clue sample. He kept looking from one to the other, back and forth, back and forth until he threw his arms up into the air. How the heck was this science stuff to supposed to help him if he didn't know what any of it was? Sheesh! Back when he was just plain Jane Joker, the names of the chemicals didn't really need to mean much so much as he knew what it did. He just knew, like it was a sixth sense or something.

Glaring at the sample, Bat-Joker stormed over to it, placing his hands on either side of it on the table. He leaned his face to it, demanding the answers it hid. It would tell him too; he had seen Batsy do it so many times that it was practically a promise.

And then he smelled something. That scent...he knew that scent! He had smelled it a bunch! Snatching up the sample, he stood up to his fully height as he held the grime close to his face. Sticking out his tongue, he pressed the tip of it to the sample.

Oh, yes, he knew exactly what this was. It was tar and one that was famously stored in Gotham's Industrial Area. While there were several versions of tar, they all usually smelled and tasted about the same.

Still, he knew where to find this stuff. Those loony gunmen had obviously been in contact with the stuff, so _ipso facto_ they had been where the tar was. Oh yes, he would find this little hideout of theirs and show them what for!

Suddenly, the door to the room swung open and someone entered the lab. "What the heck are these lights doing…" a voice trailed off.

Whipping his head around, Bat-Joker saw a lab rat—you know, one of those nerdy-looking geeks in the white lab coats. This one happened to be a guy with long, shoulder-length hair. It was obviously someone going for the Fabio look and it kinda worked for him. He stood in the doorway, frozen in place with a look of fear on his face.

Immediately, Bat-Joker threw his hands up in front of him, the universal sign of...well...he wasn't sure what it was a universal sign for. Hopefully it would relax the guy. "Do not worry, lab geek guy. I mean you no harm."

However, lab geek guy didn't seem too relieved, so Bat-Joker felt that perhaps he had made the wrong gesture. So he moved his arms out to his sides, hoping to get the reaction he wanted. This had the result of him knocking a few beakers on the table next to him over, spilling chemicals all over the tabletop.

"Oh, whoops! Didn't mean to make that mess," he apologized. "You don't mind cleaning that—"

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" the lab geek screamed before he went running doing the hallway. Now that was just rude.

Annoyed, Bat-Joker threw his arms out to his sides in irritation, again knocking something over. Jerking his head to a side, he saw it was a Bunsen burner, one that had an open flame. It landed on its side and the flame touched the fluid on the table. Immediately, it burst into flames, the fire racing along the trail of the chemicals.

Well, that couldn't be good.

* * *

The night was calm outside the GothCorp building. In fact, one could say it was quiet in spite of the city's current situation.

And then the side of the building exploded, a giant fireball blasting out into the air. Debris went flying in all directions as the fire died out into a pillar of black smoke.

* * *

The sight of a car flipping front over back was indeed something he wasn't able to miss. And that was a total of five flips. Huh, had no idea that was possible.

As the car landed on top of another—giving a wince here because insurance companies were going to deny that had ever happened—Nightwing turned his attention to the cause of the flipping car. It was a large, overly-muscled man in torn up shorts, and any details were obscured by that enormous back. At least he wasn't green like that one comic book character.

Still, the hulk was causing quite a mess, and a long trail of one at that. It seemed content to just keep doing that.

Now, he would've liked to have gone down there and somehow put a stop to it, but he was playing it smart this time. He had taken post and was observing this guy, trying to figure out all he was capable of. So far, a lot of strength, a lot of rage based on the roars and yells he made, and in general, it all seemed random. Whatever was closest to the guy, he grabbed and crushed or threw.

That made him predictable and unpredictable at the same time.

For his safety, Nightwing was hiding on top of a rooftop, though it wasn't as safe as you thought. There was a light pole that had been torn off the street and thrown up into the air. Guess where it landed. About ten feet away the vigilante.

A familiar whistle took him away from his observation and to the figure of Red Robin. "That's quite a case of road rage," the masked teen remarked.

"And it's our problem now," he replied as he looked over his former partner's shoulder. There was the rest of the Batclan, Spoiler giving a groan as she watched the mayhem below.

"We have to fight that guy? This is gonna suck…" she complained.

"We're not in this because it's easy," Nightwing stated as he turned his gaze back to the muscle man below.

"Couldn't have said it better myself." And there was Huntress. "This what Oracle was talking about?"

"Yep," he confirmed. "Been keeping an eye on him; gonna wait for the others before I go any further.

That might have been approval in her eyes. That or dust.

Naturally, when one starts showing up, the rest come in quick order and this was no exception. The rest of the Birds plus one Green Arrow arrived soon after and only then did the de facto leader of the Batclan give a rundown on the situation.

"So super strong, super angry, and I'm betting he can take a hit," Green Arrow summed up. "I don't think I brought enough arrows for this."

"So we're going to wear him down, or something?" Red Robin asked, putting up a plan they could debate on.

Now, he would have expected someone to scoff at that plan, say, "Wear him down? No, we're going to kick his ass until he stays down." That's not what he got, though.

"We need something that can really lay the hurt on him, and it needs to be a good hit," Huntress stated. "Canary's cry could probably do some damage, definitely to the ear drums."

"If I get a good angle, I could blast him," Manhunter offered, gripping her staff.

"Don't forget about my taser," Bluebird reminded.

That reminded Nightwing of his escrima, but he doubted they had the kind of voltage needed here. Still, they were thinking this out, a sign they had learned from Bane. And what do you know, they were going to fight a guy who was just as big.

His ribs were protesting already. Yeah, definitely shouldn't have gone to the gym today.

"Let's try and slow him down. Let Katana cut him up a bit. Blood loss should do that. Between me, Huntress, and most everyone else here, aim for his head, try to concuss him. Long distance is preferable, but do anything you can to do some damage. Let's do our best not to kill him and do it quickly."

He waited for any objections but got none. Seemed like everyone thought this was the best course of action for them. Alright, show time.

"Red Robin, go get his attention, Arrow, if you have something that can tie him up, do it. Everyone else get ready to put the hurt on him."

And Red Robin was off, his cape unfurled and gliding over the street. Green Arrow was notching an arrow and taking aim. Everyone else lowering themselves down to the street via grapple lines at varying speeds, getting into any positions they could. Nightwing himself was only halfway down the building when Red Robin flung out one of his unpatented birdarangs, the small detonation stopping the rampaging hulk and directing his attention away from what he was doing.

Nightwing's feet weren't even on the pavement yet when an arrow streaked overhead, releasing what seemed like a mess of ribbons at the last minute to wrap around the man and restrain him. They didn't look sturdy but man they were holding on.

Then the rest of the Network came out. Huntress led the charge, landing the first blow with her bo staff on the side of the man's head, backing off immediately when the Monster Man roared in pain. Red Hood darted in for what turned out to be a single blow to the stomach. Black Canary went for a kick to the side then while Spoiler on the other side with a shoulder tackle, and even Manhunter got in on the action, swinging the butt end of her staff into the tempting target of the man's spine. Katana and Bluebird were holding back, waiting for the best opportunity to strike, and Nightwing himself was just pulling out his escrima.

And the mountain of a man was still standing as if nothing had hit him. He had gone quiet suddenly when each vigilante struck him. Then, with an impressive amount of strength, he ripped off Arrow's ribbons, arms tearing through the restraints. That was when Nightwing got a good look at that huge body. Muscles were practically bulging, skin straining against them. The man's head swung around, and it looked like someone had gone backwards on the evolutionary scale.

The monster man snarled then, throwing a fist out that was thankfully dodged by everyone in close proximity. The vigilantes backed off simultaneously, like the tide pulling away from shore. The fist, however, kept going until it embedded itself in a nearby car. And yet, the man didn't pull his fist out; instead he picked up the damn car itself and used it as a metal boxing glove to attack them.

Oh shit.

Luckily, everyone got out of the way, but that car crumpled like an empty beer can when it was slammed down on the street. The massive fist ripped out of the vehicle's remains, and the man roared once more before charging like a freaking tank. It was Red Hood this beast was targeting, and you didn't need to see or hear the hoodlum to know he was swearing his ass off while backpedaling for dear life.

Showing some intelligence, the monster changed his trajectory while he was charging. Fortunately, Red Hood was able to get out of the way, but the pair of cars he slipped between weren't so lucky. One was sent spinning around in circles across the street while another was smashed into the storefront of a building. Then to add further injury to the car, a fist smacked and severely dented the car roof.

That's went Red Robin swooped in, planting both of his feet to the back of the hulk's head and smashing it into the dented car roof. A large hand stretched out to try and snag the flying teen's feet and barely missed him. Then Katana darted in, swinging and slicing her sword into that misshapen back. Long, red cuts appeared in the man's skin instantly.

The Asian woman suddenly ducked as an elbow swung back at her, backpedalling as a large fist came down and struck the pavement, then shot back in and placed a long cut on the swollen arm. Her struck delivered, she back flipped away as the brute's other arm tried to hit her. The dark-haired woman actually managed to plant one of her feet on the enraged man's face and kicked off of it as she flipped higher into the air, though such a blow seemed to have little effect.

Manhunter then slid in front of the man, her staff held like an assault rifle at her hip. A violent blast of energy shot out of the end pointed at the behemoth of a man and blasted him point black, the resulting explosion sending the creature flying backwards into the brick wall of the building behind him. Ooh, that had to hurt. That had been a solid hit too, right in the chest. This was starting to look like it was wrapping up nicely.

Nightwing's eyes suddenly widened as the brute hurled himself forward, not looking the worse for the hit he took. A large fist was swung out and Manhunter, due to being shocked at this development, held her staff in front of her to take the blow. She might as well have tried to stop a semi because the force of the blow pushed her back, practically sailing across the street, and into the side of a parked car. The staff-wielding vigilante cried out as the car seemed to crumple behind her. Internally, the male vigilante swore, his brow furrowing as he stared at his comrade. And was it him, or did that staff look bent from where he stood?

Someone swore and Huntress charged towards their gigantic foe, attempted to divert the muscled man from going after Manhunter. Clenching his teeth tightly together, Nightwing pushed aside the dull aching in his sides to go and do his part, escrimas lit up and ready for battle.

Faintly, he overheard the sounds of chopping—a helicopter, he recognized. It was overhead and a spotlight was falling over the area, lighting it up better than the street lights. The absence of a voice demanding that people surrender told him that it wasn't the police. Well, whoever it was was about to get a show.

* * *

Carefully pushing in the needle, Strange busied himself with his other pet project. Normally when he engaged in the act of weaving and sewing, it was meditative. Not tonight though. You could say only half of his attention was on the activity.

The other half of it was, uncharacteristically, on the television, tuning in to the late night news. In this case it was breaking news. How appropriately that it was all about breaking.

There, right there in the streets of Gotham, was not-so-Little Mario and he was doing so wonderful. The carnage, the chaos, the mayhem, it was beautiful. The savagery prevented it from being a true masterpiece, such as the Bat Infestation, or his manufactured mob war, but this was only a start. The coup de gras had yet to be delivered.

He barely batted an eye at the appearance of several lithe figures attacking Mario, trying their best to bring him down. They would try, but it was painfully obvious that none of them were Batman. They were rank amateurs, in over their heads. The only thing they would do would be to test his creation out, and at least from that aspect he would gain a better grasp of his serum.

The only thing that really irked him was when the reporter described Mario as a "Monster Man." Monster Man. Really. A crude name for one of his creations. Well, his serum would need a name, would it not? A better name for his Monster Man Serum would be sought out later.

In the meantime, he would continue to watch as the fruit of his superior mind played on live television.

* * *

"Okay… I'm starting to run out of ideas." Red Hood was huffing and puffing beside him, his hands holding each other gingerly. Turns out hitting this huge, monster guy was like trying to hit a brick wall. It caused more damage to your fist than the wall, though.

Nightwing nodded his head in agreement, panting. His sides were killing him, and he was pushing past his endurance level right now. And that was after hitting the brute with his electrified escrima sticks who knows how many times. Hit after hit had landed and it seemed like it had absolutely no effect.

Spoiler was keeping her distance, proving as useful as Red Hood right now. Huntress had also fallen back, but that was because her bo staff was broken in half; that wasn't because the hulk had broken it in half, but because Huntress had hit him way too many times that the staff couldn't take it anymore. Green Arrow was running low on arrows and was reduced to shooting last remaining trick arrows. Case in point, the one notched on his bow had a boxing glove at the end of it.

Firing it, it ended up bouncing off the muscle man's head and just made him angrier, as if that was even possible.

The best luck they had was when Bluebird got a shot of her taser rifle off and it seemed for a few seconds they had him. Then the hulk's second wind kicked in and well, the rifle was no long in operating order. That girl really needed to invest in a strap of some sort.

Right now, their best hopes rested with Black Canary and Katana. To save Bluebird from a rampaging monster man, the former had unleashed her Canary Cry, almost made everyone deaf, but had managed to do the one thing that no one else had done so far and stop the bastard in his tracks. Then he had picked himself up and gone after her.

As for Katana, she was getting in some good hits, causing some more bodily harm, but the blood loss wasn't affecting the monster fast enough. How much blood did a body like that have? It was really, really frustrating right now. If only he had been in better shape…

"Oracle? We're having issues. Any ideas?" he spoke into his earpiece, desperately hoping for some kind of _deus ex machina_. Something. Anything.

" _Cops are en route. They'll be here any minute._ "

Well thanks for that update. Really. A bunch of guys with guns were going to come in and waste this asshole. They couldn't afford this, not when the Network had only just been put together. This was make or break time, and it really looked like they were breaking.

But not on his watch.

Looking up and down the street, he found himself disappointed that there weren't any large vehicles, like a truck or a tractor trailer. So the way they fought Audrey wasn't happening any time soon.

Okay, what else could they do?

As he was trying to figure that out, Katana went in for another close up with this freaking titan. By now, the big guy had grown weary of that samurai sword and backed up immediately, watching the swordswoman warily. Though her first slash missed, Katana pressed her advantage, eyeing him like a hawk and creeping forward, searching for a break in the brute's defense.

When such a breach didn't happen, she changed it up and thrust forward with her sword, the muscle man continuing to back away and circle around her. Turning the blade on its side, Katana turned her thrust into another slash, which also failed to hit. The big man growled, but continued to remain on the defensive.

That...didn't seem right to him. But it couldn't be that this guy was smart, right? So far, all he had done was everything that didn't require a lot of thinking or planning.

Then the monster of a man lunged forward, totally expected and Katana was ready for it—to a point. Turns out that the man was aiming not for the Asian vigilante herself, but her incredible speed, it shot a hand out and grabbed hold of the blade itself. Jerking his arm to a side, he threw off the masked woman's balance, causing her to stumble. He then raised a foot up and lashed out with it, the meaty foot ramming into her torso, and sailing through the air she went, bouncing off the asphalt when she landed, but managing to flip back onto her feet.

However there was one problem. The monster of a hulk was still holding Katana's sword.

Giving a roar, the bastard held the sword up, ignoring the rivulet of blood that leaked from his hand and grabbed one end with his free hand. It didn't take a genius to know what he planned to do with it. Even Katana had caught on and was already screaming something that didn't sound like English.

Realizing that now was the time for action and not thinking about what to do next, Nightwing adjusted his grip on one of his escrima sticks and threw it like a missile as hard as he could, ignoring his ribs. With clenched teeth, he watched as the baton-esque weapon drew closer and closer until it struck that beast of a man on the forehead. While it seemed to have no effect on him, the escrima bouncing off like a rock off a wall, it did get him to stop bending Katana's sword.

Then a birdarang struck one of the brute's hands and detonated. The monster man gave a cry of surprise, which then turned into a—unbelievable as it may seem—yell of pain when Red Robin swooped in and nailed the side of the hulk's knee with both of his feet. Toppling over, the bastard fell down to the street, releasing his hold on the samurai sword and letting it clatter to the street where Katana was quick to snatch it up. Enormous hands grasped at the injured knee, the twisted man reddening in a combination of pain and fury.

Red Robin was already pulling back, literally flapping his arms, but thanks to his cape acting as a pair of wings, was able to gain some altitude. Over his earpiece, he heard the flying teen say, " _Did you see that? Let's try targeting the joints! The normal weak spots!_ "

"Normal weak spots?" Red Hood repeated, giving the older vigilante a look.

"Knees, throat, groin," Nightwing found himself rattling off. He had been about to say stomach, but remembered Red Hood had tried that area before to little effect.

"So playing dirty? I can get behind that." And now Red Hood was trying to be cool and cracked his knuckles, though the flinch in his shoulders revealed how much of a bad idea that was.

The monster man was pushing himself up onto his feet, being real careful with the leg Red Robin had hit. Huntress didn't seem to care about honor and integrity—because who did right now?—and had raced right up to the man, slamming one of the broken pieces of her bo staff into his throat. The hulk made an odd gagging sound, the first of its kind so far, and Huntress pressed her advantage, spinning and swinging the other piece of her ruined bo staff to strike the base of the skull, where the head and neck merged.

Then, as if synchronized, Huntress pulled back while Black Canary took over, using a peep of her Canary Cry on the giant asshole's head to send him bending backwards and falling over when his injured knee couldn't take it anymore. Balancing on one leg, she held the other one up high and brought it down viciously on a very exposed groin, and even Nightwing had to wince in sympathy because the blonde-haired vigilante twisted her heel before leaping off.

Then Green Arrow came in, shooting two arrows that entered the fleshing undersides of the armpits. A third arrow was notched and fired, hitting and sticking into the chest. The brute's thick layer of muscle prevented the pointed tip from going in deep, but it seemed like that was Arrow's intention. The monster man began crying out and spasming, managing to yank a large arm up to pull out the arrow were spurts of electricity leaked out of the arrow tip.

So far the assault looked to be working. The guy was very, very slow to push himself up. But he needed something, one more hit in the right spot, to push him over the edge and take him out. For his sake, it better be soon because Nightwing could hear the sounds of police sirens.

Glancing at the one escrima he still held, and recalling the effectiveness of Star City's resident vigilante, he had an idea.

"Think you can get his mouth open?" he asked of his fellow Batclan partner.

"Why?" Red Hood asked, suspicious.

"Trust me. Got an idea."

A pause, a second's worth of hesitation. "This better not kill me."

"Be more worried for him," he assured the younger male as he braced himself for rapid movement. His ribs were going to need to take one for the team.

If Red Hood was saying anything, he was muttering it low enough not to be picked up by any mics. Regardless, like the hot-headed male he was, he charged in, swinging a punch to the side of the monster man's head. Not that that had any effect other than to direct bloodshot eyes that were filled with rage on the hoodlum-turned-vigilante.

Opening his mouth to snarl, the large, muscled man attempted to grab at Hood, which the masked punk jabbed his knob of an elbow down into the side of the hulk's beefy one. The large arm seemed to spasm, turning a snarl of anger into a shout of pain. As all this was happening, Nightwing had circled around and literally ran up the broad back.

With both hands holding the handle of the escrima, he held it above his head before swinging it down and into the mouth. He wasn't sure if the escrima chipped any of the monster man's crooked teeth, but he was successful in inserting his weapon into the orifice. And yes, the voltage of the escrima was at full power.

The monster man began jerking rapidly, practically spasming. His back arched, head thrown back, which allowed Nightwing to push the escrima deeper. A bluish light flickered in the mouth, and smoke beginning to envelop around the deformed, swollen head.

Finally, Nightwing took mercy and pulled out, leaping back and taking up a defensive stance while the big guy stood there like a statue. Then, finally, _finally_ , the lug collapsed onto the street with a loud crash and laid there, a stream of drool leaking from his mouth.

There was an instance where everyone stood there, waiting, watching, seeing if he would get up one more time. All the while, the police sirens grew louder and louder.

"Brutal," Green Arrow commented. "I think that did it."

Nightwing released a sigh of relief. "Let's...let's get out of here. Before the fuzz shows up."

* * *

This was as unexpected as it was perplexing.

With muscled arms cross over his chest, Bane gazed out on the city as he contemplated recent events. Specifically, he was mulling over the news of a unit of his men being slaughtered. There was only one survivor.

This was not anticipated. From all his studies on the city, he had been sure that the men he had handpicked himself were more than capable of handling its challenges. Especially when the powers that be and the Batman himself engaged in a policy where they refused to take life.

So what had changed?

"The survivor. He is credible?" That point needed to be clear.

"He is," Zombie confirmed.

"And he yet draws breath?"

"I'm afraid he has already expired. If I didn't know any better, I would be led to believe that the wounds he had suffered were deliberately inflicted in such a way to allow him to live long enough to report the massacre." The masked man could hear the slight frustration and admiration in his underling's voice. That was in and of itself a sign of the skill of this newest development.

If the survivor was to be believed, it was an orchestrated attack directed at him. His men were the targets and all were dispatched efficiently. Even if it sounded preposterous, what with the attackers being described as ninja, it could not be ignored.

He was being challenged.

"We will find these interlopers and deal with them. No one must be allowed to remain and challenge me," Bane declared. "See what you can find out about anyone who matches the descriptions of these new players."

"At once," Zombie complied.

In this moment, Bane couldn't help but recall the words that Trogg had said to him about eliminating all threats. All must be crushed. In comparison to the phantom that the older, yet loyal man now chased, this new one held greater urgency.

It would be dealt with.

At that time, Bird made his entrance, his voice possessing a giddiness to it. "You will not believe what just happened." The masked man's silence served as a prompt for the native Gothamite to continue. "I just heard that Tough Tony wants to talk with you. He wants to see about joining forces."

"This Tough Tony presumes a lot," Zombie said dryly. You did not need to look at him to know the thin, bald man was raising an eyebrow up in skepticism. "Who is he?"

"Only the man who can give us control of the unions," Bird said nonchalantly. "He was up in North Gotham when we hit it. Saw what we could do and got spooked. Obviously, he wants to cut a deal, save his own skin, and maybe hold on to something."

"That's quite the claim," Zombie remarked.

"Tough Tony was big before I got pinched and sent to that hellhole," the blond American explained. "Unlike some people, he knew how to keep himself out of trouble, yet keep business rolling."

"It's awfully convenient that he chooses now to initiate negotiations," Zombie said dryly.

It was, wasn't it? If what Bird said was true, though, it was a very tempting opportunity. One that only a fool would pass up. Or would he?

"You know how to get in touch with this Tough Tony?" he inquired. When he received the affirmative, "Set up the meet. I will inform him of what a partnership entails. Either he will accept or I will kill him, then seize his unions, one by one if I have to."


	13. Trap at KnightLife Stadium

Formerly known as Powers Stadium, Gotham's KnightLife Studium was an enormous structure that when the hometown team, the Knights, were playing, it was filled to the brim with fanatical fans. When they weren't, it was empty as a ghost town. Just a giant, donut-shaped building with an equally massive, empty parking lot.

It was here that Tough Tony had picked for the meet. A logistical nightmare for anyone wanting to set up an ambush, or a raid. Perhaps this was why Bressi had picked it.

From sight alone, Bane had picked up on this. Bressi, or Tough Tony, was a smart man. Perhaps he could find a use for him once he had consolidated his grip over the city. That he also recognized his position and sought to bargain was another example of the man's intelligence.

They were to meet in one of the luxury boxes, the places where those with the financial means would watched the sporting events below, separate from the common people, and catered to. It was a space designed to be cut off from the rest of the world, hidden away from prying eyes.

Still, it was best to scout the area first anyway. Talon was circling the stadium overhead while Bird kept his eyes on the iPad he held, magnifying the image on the screen at certain intervals. While the Gotham native engaged in his task, the rest of his men sat on standby, awaiting Bane's command to leave their vehicles and enter the building.

They were parked a block from the stadium, keeping out of sight just in case. After the attack from the ninjas, it was best to be cautious. Who knew when this new enemy would strike next?

"All clear. Nothing in the parking lot and nothing on the field besides AstroTurf," Bird reported as he turned the device off. "Nothing on anybody in the building, but there's got to be if Tough Tony is there. No way he's going anywhere by himself."

"Security, then," Zombie summed up. "Probably owns them himself."

Ideally. Nevertheless, he was here for a reason. Either he would leave this place with greater power over the city, or with someone's head along with that power.

"Start the car. We are going ahead," Bane ordered.

* * *

There were two cars that pulled into stadium's parking lot. Suburbans, both of them. They pulled up to the south entrance, exactly as they were told. Two men in security uniforms watched the vehicles, and when the group of men pour out, they began unlocking the closed gate.

Among the men was a monster of a man with a very prominent mask over his head. Watching through a pair of binoculars, the GCPD officers hiding in a closed store observed through the storefront window. With the building kept dark, the officer had only the streetlights on the side of the road to give him any light.

Holding a radio to his mouth, he said, "Our guy's arrived. Has nine hostiles with him. All are armed."

The undercover officer said no more, continuing to spy on the targets. This was going to be it.

* * *

Bane's booted feet clomped through the concrete hallways and into the elevators. One of the security guards manning the south entrance was leading them to their destination, the other remaining to keep an eye out for any possible disruptions. Not all the men he had brought in could fit in there, so he left them with orders to remain and keep watch.

If necessary, they would remain behind and secure an exit should this meeting end in disaster. In case of a trap, it always paid to keep someone on the outside.

The doors to the elevator opened and the guard took point, leading the small group down a luxuriously designed hallway, carpeted and decorated with sports memorabilia and images. None of it impressed the masked man, or held any meaning to him.

Reaching a door, the guard opened it and entered first, holding it open to them. The courtesy was wasted; he had to turn sideways and enter shoulder first due to the fact that the width of his shoulders was longer than the doorway itself.

To his displeasure, he found the box suite empty, absent of any Tough Tony. There was a view of the fifty yard line, but like the earlier courtesy, it was wasted. He cared not for it and turned to the man who was unfortunate to be his guide.

"Where is Bressi?" he demanded. Picking up on his ire, Bird and Zombie leveled pointed looks at the security guard and his armed mercenaries tightened their grips on their guns.

"Mr. Bressi will be with you shortly. I was told to tell you to make yourselves comfortable while he finishes with a dispute. Some workers with trash collections are making some noise and he needs to handle it," the guard explain, doing an admirable job of not showing any sign of fear.

"Why are garbage men more important than being on time to a meet you set up?" Bird quipped, crossing his arms over his chest.

"It was last minute and if things are to proceed without incident, he needs to make sure no one's making a racket while his back is turned. He'll be here to see you shortly." Without waiting, the guard closed the door behind him, leaving the group of men shut off from the rest of the world.

Bane, however, was not keen to waiting. Instead, he was focusing on the man's words. For a low level employee, he was very informative about the inner machinations that his employer was engaged in. Why would a man employed for security be aware of labor disputes? Specifically, ones that did not involve security?

"Freaking figures. Sounds like someone's trying to milk a little more cash out of this cow," Bird grumbled as he wandered over to the large window, gazing at the field below. "What I wouldn't do to see the Knights play from up here," the blonde man murmured to himself.

Directing his attention away from Bird, Bane found along the far wall was a buffet, various trays of food displayed, some of which were still steaming. Almost as if they were freshly cooked and place out. Two of his mercenaries had found it, one of them grabbing of handful of what appeared to be pigs-in-a-blanket and stuffed them into his mouth. As he chewed, he spoke, commenting on the tastiness.

It was almost as if someone wanted them to be comfortable. Too comfortable.

"I don't like this," Zombie commented it. "It was this Tough Tony who was desperate to meet us. Why now postpone?"

That settled it.

"We're leaving," Bane announced turning towards the door and already making his way to it.

"What? But we just got here!" Bird exclaimed as he snapped his head around to gape, clearly caught off guard.

"This is a trap," he stated, grabbing the door handled and turning it.

"Here?!" Bird was dubious, but he was already making his way over. "Who the hell would try to trap us here? The place is huge!"

By now, the three armed mercenaries had hurried over and were stepping out into the hallway. Bane continued, "Which is what they want us to think. They want us to—"

"YOU'RE UNDER ARREST! PUT YOUR GUNS DOWN AND PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!"

There was a shout in Spanish followed by gunfire. Bane ducked back as bullets struck the door frame and the door itself. Both Bird and Zombie were crouching to the floor. The mercenaries were gunned down, their bodies falling to the floor with wet thuds. They hadn't stood a chance and had done nothing to the threat outside.

"They got us trapped in here," Zombie stated. "They didn't have to secure the whole place, just a small portion of it."

"Fuck!" Bird swore. Pulling out a radio, he began issuing orders into it, but received no response. It appeared that the men left behind were either dead, or captured.

This was indeed an ambitious operation, well thought out and highly efficient.

"SURRENDER YOURSELVES! WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!"

The shouting gave it away; it was law enforcement. To think that the GCPD would recover so quickly from the raid on their jail. This had not been planned for. If anything, he had assumed they would cower, much like the authorities in Santa Prisca had, and wait for when he attacked them next. There was a cunning strategist among their ranks.

Meanwhile, Bird had crept over to the opened door and did his best to peek around the door frame. The seconds passed slowly, then the blond American swore and pulled his head back as several bullets pelted the doorway, scattering splinters. Hurrying back, his report was anything but ideal.

"They got guys in riot gear, shields and all, and freaking machines guns. They're armed for war! They got both hallways covered. No way we can go out and not get ourselves killed."

"They have us pinned," Zombie concluded.

It was so obvious now. Devious, but so obvious. The location was a Trojan Horse, a means to convince them into lowering their guard. With Bressi as bait, Bane had to admit he had been lured in with the promise of more power over the city. The timing had only served to make it seem less of a trap; the sooner Bressi had contacted him, using the strike on North Gotham as justification, the less likely he would have been suspicious.

Played to perfection. Had he been a lesser man, he would give in to these impossible odds and do as the GCPD officer commanded.

But he was Bane; he was no mere man.

"What do you have?" he said, his question less asking and more ordering.

"Talon's on the outside; fat load of good that bird will do us in here," Bird groused.

"Other than my knives, which I doubt will be enough to get us past all those fully armed and armored police officers, I do have a smoke grenade," Zombie said, pulling out said grenade. "I've been carrying one on my person since my run-in with those costumed women."

"It will serve," Bane declared as he reached towards his arm-mounted Venom feed, his finger and thumb placing themselves on the dial.

* * *

Petit had to hand it to Gordon; the man was a smart son of a bitch.

At first, the SWAT commander had his doubts about using the KnightLife Stadium for their ambush, but then the Commissioner had explained why it was perfect. Color him surprised that Bane literally walked in without raising a stink until he was put in that box seat. Might as well put himself on a silver platter.

Taking care of the men left on the ground floor had been a cakewalk. His men had snuck up on them and nabbed them all. Made sure none could radio in and spoil the operation. Things got a bit close when their target got spooked and made an attempt to leave, but now they were the ones in control. Chalk one up for Gotham's finest. They just bagged the son of a bitch who was making a mess of their city.

"THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING!" he shouted. "COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD, OR WE'RE GOING IN THERE. WE WILL SHOOT TO KILL!"

With a large riot shield strapped to his left arm and a machine gun held around it, Petit took a step closer to the box suite. He was going to edge his way closer until he got a good look into the room itself. They'd have nowhere to hide and if they didn't want to be gunned down, they would surrender—one way or another.

The SWAT commander came to an abrupt stop as he spotted a small canister fly out of the room. Smoke billowed out from it, filling the hallway in no time, taking away visibility. That he wasn't coughing meant it was a simple smoke bomb and not something more effective, like tear gas. Still, no way would he go forward until he had a clear shot.

Then he heard a loud snapping sound. The next thing he knew, the door to box suite swung around far from what its hinges allowed. He found himself falling back as the force throwing the door was too great for him to remain on his feet.

Then there was the sound of something crashing through the wall.

* * *

With a boom, Bane tore through the wall like it was made of paper, sheetrock and plaster scattering everywhere. With the smoke as his cover and a door serving as a distraction, the empowered man charged down the hallway to his left. Immediately he encountered the resistance of the shielded police officers.

However, that resistance was similar to the wall. With Venom running through his veins, they fell apart easily. The first officer was thrown to the floor the moment Bane's shoulder rammed into him. The man stood no chance at recovery as the masked man's booted foot stepped on his shield, the hardened material cracking instantly with a spider web's pattern of cracks. If you listened closely, you could almost hear someone gurgle, blood flooding a throat.

The next officer was forced into a wall from a casual backhand, his body cratering the surface. Another shared a similar fate only the wall held behind him. Bane, however, ripped the man's shield away from him, along with his arm, and used it to protect himself. He now had no fear for gunfire from the front now.

As for the armored and heavily-armed men before him, whether they were trampled, or shoved to a side, they all fell before his might. Liquid fire burned through his body, enhancing his strength, his speed, and his will. Though his body had increased in mass, the power he felt made it null.

Behind him, Zombie and Bird followed after, doing their best to keep up. They would try, but fail. Instead, they would make sure that the rear was covered. The smoke cloud would only last so long and the diversion with the door would keep the officers behind them busy for a shorter amount of time. Snatching up a gun from one of the trampled men, Bird began giving them cover fire.

Eventually, Bane cleared the hallway, yet did not stop charging. His sharp eyes searched the never ending hallway, only stopping once they spotted a sign with an arrow. That arrow pointed in the direction of the stairs. Those would be far more a reliable escape route than the elevator, which could be shut down. Grabbing the door knob, he tore the door right off its hinges, and with a large hand he gripped the stairwell railing. With a heave, he threw himself over the railing and onto the stairs below.

His legs withstood the shock of landing on an uneven surface, but he only repeated the maneuver to the next flight. Behind him, two pairs of rapidly moving feet followed after, accompanied with gunfire.

For the moment, escape was the motive. Vengeance would come later once freedom was secured.

* * *

"Does anyone know where they are?! They can't have gone far!" Petit bellowed into the radio. He did his best to move around his fellow officers, all of whom were either motionless on the floor, or slumped against the walls. In a couple case, they were actually _in_ the walls.

" _We have no visual on the suspects._ "

" _They're not in the elevator. Checking the stairs._ "

" _Belay that. I think they took stairs. The door's on the floor; they had to have come through here._ "

"Where are you?!" Petit could feel his frustration growing, but he wasn't about to lose his cool now.

" _Ground floor, Commander. Wait_ — _I heard something._ "

" _I have a visual on the suspects. They just broke through the west gate. They're heading into the city!_ "

"Someone stop them! Shoot them! Don't let them get away!" Petit roared, slowing down as he came to a stairwell, the door missing. A look would tell you that he was fixated on the stairwell railing, which was crumpled and twisted from a very prominent hand-shaped dent in it.

Knowing that he wouldn't be able to catch the target, the SWAT commander turned back and returned to his men. Christ, they looked like a semi had run through here and not a very large bastard in a mask. He could hear the groans and he knew that they were going to need some medical attention.

All this, and the bastard they were chasing was getting away.

Goddamn it.

* * *

There was a different atmosphere in the Bat-bunker. It was in stark contrast to the depression the vigilantes had felt following their encounter with Bane.

The monster man, though tough, had been taken down by them—all of them. Each person had a hand in some form or fashion and every effort had been necessary for their victory. It was a little gratifying to be honest.

Nightwing wanted to take a deep breath, but resisted the urge. His ribs were killing him, but that's what he expected considering all the effort he had put in with them still in the healing stages. No doubt he would require more time before they were in better shape.

A glance around the room told him that everyone seemed to have the same perspective on the fight as he did, though each one specific to each person. Take Katana for instance: she was holding onto her sword rather tightly, resting the weapon in her lap rather than letting it hang from her hip. The table blocked his sight, but considering the Asian woman had both of her hands beneath the table, he could only assume that she was gripping onto the sword tightly. She had been like that ever since the monster man had tried to break it.

And speaking of breaking. Looking to Manhunter, she looked rather peeved. She had been taken out of the fight early, thanks to one hell of a punch. While she had blocked the blow with her staff, her state-of-the-art weapon was out of commission. She had tossed it into a corner after she had further inspected it. "Well, that's the end for that one," she had bitterly said.

Black Canary and Green Arrow didn't look any worse for wear, though they were clearly tired. They seemed content with the result. The same could be said for Huntress, who was lounging in her chair.

As for the Batclan, they were all practically preening. Tim was holding himself straighter, a lot more confident. Nightwing had to admit, his old partner had really improved himself since his move out west. Last year, the younger male wouldn't have done half the stuff he had done tonight.

Bluebird and Spoiler were sitting pretty much the same as Red Robin. In fact, they seemed energized by the encounter. True, they hadn't taken the brunt of the monster man's attacks, but they had served their purpose well. Even Jason was buzzing in his seat having served well in the fight. Though he did have his hand wrapped in a bandage thanks to nearly breaking it against the monster man's stomach. Apparently it had been like punching a wall.

However, despite the fight, there were questions floating around, the main one being where this thing had come from. It had just shown up out of the blue and began trashing downtown. It was obvious it was out of its mind, no question there. They were going to need some follow up on that and soon.

Nightwing shook his head. Everyone had been pretty much been sitting at their meeting table, waiting for someone to break the ice. The Batclan was deferring to the older vigilantes and they in turn were content with their own musings. This would not do at all.

So he decided it was time to start things. "We had a good night," he started, earning himself the attention of the room. "It was a big improvement over the North Gotham attack."

"Damn straight it was," Jason agreed. "We took that big bastard down!"

 _Thanks for the commentary, Jason,_ Nightwing mentally thought.

"We got lucky," Huntress spoke then. "That monster was a walking wall of muscle; your hand speaks to that point. It was luck that Robin over there figured out to go for his knees and stuff."

"Red Robin," Tim coughed into his hand.

"That said," she continued, ignoring the young man, "being lucky is a hell of a lot better than not."

"What I'd like to know is where it came from," Manhunter interjected then. "It's not like it was walking around, minding its own business, and then suddenly began smashing things. No way this was kept under lock and key until now."

" _I might have an answer for that."_

Nightwing perked his head up at Oracle's words. He had to admit, she was starting to pick her segways well. As a light began to glow from the center of the table, an image appeared in midair. It was of a map of an ocean with a lot of small looking islands.

" _As you all know, I've been trying to find some intel on Bane,"_ the hacker told them, earning several nods from the vigilantes. " _And I've got to tell you, I've been having a hell of a time."_

"Not exactly something we want to hear," Huntress muttered.

" _I did manage to find something though,"_ Oracle continued, not the least bit taken back by the purple-clad woman's words. " _It turns out, Bane comes from this little island out in the Caribbean: Santa Prisca. It's a small island, so not many people know about it, but it's your typical South American Dictatorship with frequent military coups._

" _However, what makes Santa Prisca stand out from all its neighbors is that it has a rather infamous prison there: Peña Duro. From what I could find out, it's a hellhole, where the worst of the worst go for life. There are no parolees or light sentences; this place is death row for all, just without the executioner."_

"Well, this sounds like a nice place to visit," Green Arrow remarked as he leaned forward in his chair. "Can't wait to go for the beaches, the island girls, and the bloodthirsty convicts."

Jason chuckled at that, causing Nightwing to eye him for a moment.

" _Unfortunately, that's about where I start running into a dead end,"_ Oracle admitted then. " _I got hit with all kinds of firewalls and anti-hacking programs. Now, everyone has some sort of software to prevent hacking; with these guys, it was the same as trying to hack the Pentagon. In fact, it's pretty much the same anti-hacking software the Pentagon uses."_

Green Arrow frowned. "Did you try hacking the Pentagon?"

There was a small silence, one Nightwing interpreted as a "yes, but I'm not proud of it." He could practically imagine the redhead squirming in her chair. " _Regardless,"_ she said after awhile, " _I did manage to find a couple things when I did some cross-checking. Tell me if you recognize either of these guys."_

Suddenly, the map of the Caribbean vanished and was instead replaced with mugshots. One was of a blond-haired man and the other a bald guy. The blond man had a busted lip and looked as if he had been in a scuffle. The other one looked as if he were the walking dead, his eyes sunken in.

"That's Zombie!" Manhunter exclaimed as she shot out of her chair, pressing her hands onto the table. "That's one of Bane's lieutenants!"

The image of the bald man enlarged then, causing the blond man to shrink into the background. " _That's right,_ " Oracle informed them. " _This man is only known as Zombie. I found records of him being incarcerated here. He was there on drug and murder charges, primarily of high-powered targets. His preferred method was with knives."_

"That's a big shocker," the brunette muttered.

" _But get this: many of his victims had a poison found in their systems. When I looked further, I found the poison is native to Santa Prisca and the surrounding islands. So when taking the poison and the people he's killed, that would've landed him right into Peña Duro."_

Okay, that was one guy they could link to the same island Bane was from. "What about the other guy?" Nightwing questioned.

" _Now this guy was easier to find stuff on. His name is Bradley Colossimo and he's right out of Gotham City. Believe it or not, he was a lawyer for the mob. Did a lot of work for Jimmy 'No Nose' Novak, and helped out a time or two with some defense teams for Falcone himself. Then suddenly he vanished right around the time Batman showed up. Turns out he got himself into some trouble with Falcone and was ran out of town. He popped up on the grid from time to time, but then he got into some major trouble with the drug trade in South America and was last seen being taken to_ — _you guessed it_ — _Peña Duro."_

"That places both of these guys in the same place," Black Canary said. "They could've made friends there potentially. And Bane would've been placed there too considering the things he's done. So we have all three rotting away and...then what?"

There was a pause. " _Well, that's where the firewall stuff comes in. A big reason for it was that I believe the U.S. Government is involved. When I tried to get into Bane's file, the firewall came crashing down. That's the only reason I even know Bane was in the same prison."_

This time the vigilantes were quiet. "Umm, how is the U.S. involved?" Spoiler asked weakly.

" _It took some time_ — _a lot of time actually_ — _but I came across something called Project Gilgamesh. It was a project to make this compound, a super-steroid I think it's called."_

Green Arrow frowned. "Are you talking about that Wayne-Queen venture? The one with that super-steroid they made?"

" _Not exactly,"_ Oracle replied. " _This was in the works before those two companies came together. The government was trying to find a way to make a bigger, stronger soldier and they believed super-steroids were the key. They eventually came up with one too; it's called Venom."_

Well, that was a catchy name. It also sounded a bit sinister too.

" _And it's with this Venom stuff that the U.S. and Santa Prisca come together. They formed a joint venture to test Venom on human subjects_ — _with the U.S. supplying the steroid and Santa Prisca supplying the test subjects. Guess where they got them."_

Huntress perked up at this point. "Don't tell me; they used the prisoners at Peña _Duro."_

Nightwing didn't need Oracle to confirm that; it was pretty obvious it was true. "Guys, I think we need to learn more about this Venom stuff. Oracle: what can you tell us about it?"

" _Not much, honestly. No matter where or how I searched, there is nothing other than the name I could find. Since two governments are involved, I can only imagine it has something to do with military purposes."_

"And those aren't exactly peaceful entities," Green Arrow added. "I'm starting to think we're going to need to learn more about Venom and the only place we're going to do that is at Santa Prisca."

"Hold up," Manhunter interjected. "You're saying we _need_ to send someone to that island? As in one of us _going_? No way, that's just a bad idea. We can't just send one person all by themselves."

"Then we send two," Green Arrow countered. "Three if necessary."

"But that will hamstring us here. We can't afford to send up to a fourth of our forces to a place as dangerous as Santa Prisca. Not while Bane is up here doing everything he can to turn Gotham into his personal feudal domain."

Now that was a problem. While they needed to find out all they could about Bane, Venom, and Project Gilgamesh, they couldn't purposefully weaken themselves to do it. It was a Catch-22 scenario.

Of course, that's when a solution was presented.

Red Robin cleared his throat, earning himself the attention of the adults in the room. "I might have an idea," he spoke up. "I know some people that can go to Santa Prisca and do it safely. I'll have to go with them to keep them in line, but we can get the intel we need."

Almost promptly, the red-clad vigilante winced, though it wasn't because he felt like he was speaking out of turn. No, Nightwing knew that look all too well; it was the one the teen made when Barbara was verbally tongue-lashing him and loudly at that.

"Who are these people?" the older man pressed, hoping that would give Tim's poor ear a reprieve. For several seconds, the teen didn't respond, that same wincing look on his face. However, he did eventually answer. "It's a bunch of guys I meet out in Jump City. Each one is a powerhouse in their own right and we helped each other out not too long ago. We were actually talking about coming out here before Bane took over. I can call them at any time to get them moving."

"Can we trust these guys?" Huntress questioned. "They're not going to get themselves killed doing this, are they? We're not going to send them into a firing line just for the hell of it."

"Trust me, they can take care of themselves." Then Red Robin added under his breath, "They're in more danger of each other than anyone else."

"I say you call them in then," Green Arrow said then. "That should cover our 'safety in numbers' concern."

"Are you sure they can protect themselves?" Huntress pressed. "You're going to have to tell us a little more than just that they can."

Red Robin pondered this for a moment. Then he sighed. "Not too long ago, we all joined up to stop this religious cult guy. He had been gathering teenagers off the streets and making them into his own personal army. In fact, he was going to use one of them to open a portal to some other dimension, or something. Oracle has all the details on file if you need more."

Huntress stared at him. Then, "I second calling them in."

"Third," Nightwing chimed in.

"Are you positive these guys are good?" Manhunter questioned. "Since you're having to go with them, I get the feeling this group is pretty new and you don't have a ton of trust between you. How old are these people anyways?"

"Well, they're about my age…"

"Uh uh, no way," the brunette responded. "I'm not sending kids into a prison. Not even if they know how to defend themselves."

"What if I told you one is a walking cyborg, another has the same powers as Wonder Woman, and another is an alien that can blow up a city block if she wanted to."

There was a pause. "Are you telling me these friends of yours are like a teenage Justice League?"

Red Robin shrugged his shoulders. "Kinda."

"Then you're not going in, not without some sort of supervision."

"Geez, Mom much?" Red Hood muttered under his breath.

With this new information though, Nightwing was starting to have second thoughts on his vote. On one hand, they were kids. On the other, they probably could fight the Justice League. They would lose, cause this was the Justice League, but they could fight them.

"I'll go," Black Canary suddenly said.

That caused everyone to look towards her. "Look, we need to learn about Bane—end of story. Red Robin knows a bunch of people that can take care of themselves and would help him out if he called. They just need someone to lead them. I'll be that leader."

"Whoa, whoa, you sure about that?" Green Arrow argued. "I mean, this is your town. If anyone should go, it's me. All of you know Gotham better than I do."

"But you know how to patrol a city on your own; you can take care of yourself," Canary pointed out. "Plus, we need someone that can have a commanding tone with kids. I don't think you have that in you and Red Robin—no offense—doesn't look like he has the best leadership skills." She was now looking to the younger male. "Maybe that's changed since your move, but you've deferred to the Birds in the past and to Nightwing now."

"I get it," Red Robin replied. "No offense taken...I guess."

"I definitely feel better with Canary going," Huntress added. "And honestly, if we're going to do this, this is our best option."

"Then let's put this to a vote," Nightwing declared, attempting to finalize this plan. If they didn't do it now, then they probably wouldn't ever. Then again, maybe Tim would take it on himself to do it anyways, if what he had been hearing from Barbara about his Jump City operation was true. "Everyone that says yes, raise your hands."

Huntress, along with Black Canary and Red Robin, raised their hands. Nightwing added his own to theirs a moment later. Katana soon followed, with Bluebird, Spoiler, and Red Hood soon after. That left Green Arrow and Manhunter as the holdouts.

Then Manhunter sighed and raised her hand. "I'm not thrilled about this, but it's the best plan we have," she announced.

All eyes then turned to Green Arrow. Without preamble, he raised a hand up. "Hey, this is your town, guys. I'm just here for the ride. If this is what you think is best, I'm with you."

"Then it's settled." Nightwing looked between Black Canary and Red Robin. "You two better go get ready. The sooner you head out, the sooner you get back. Red Robin, call your friends in. Get them to Santa Prisca whatever way you can.

"And more importantly, don't get yourselves killed."


	14. Something Desecrated

A picture was worth a thousand words, and Gordon was beginning to think there was some truth in it. In this case, the picture, or pictures, were of the KnightLife Stadium and the results of their trap. They had apprehended four of Bane's men, killed three, and the last three had escaped. Unfortunately, Bane was one of the three to escape.

Make no mistake, last night was a gamble, just another one of many he had done during his time as commissioner.

The location had been the big one, the stickler. The stadium was huge, a security nightmare, but just focusing on a small portion of it had been the selling point. If they could control just a small amount of space on one floor, that would be much more manageable than the entire building.

Based on initial reports, the plan had been working. They had their guys holed up in one of the box suites—as planned—brought in some heavy artillery, put enough pressure on the bastards until they either surrendered, or went down as a suicide by cop. Everything had been going their way.

The giant hole in the wall was not predicted. Other than a smoke bomb, no incendiary devices were reported used. They had several SWAT officers in the hospital with differing degrees of injuries, about four were in intensive care. Bill Petit was still pissed off about the outcome of the whole thing. On top of that, Bressi was spooked enough as it was, and with the failure of the operation the union boss wanted out of Gotham _now_.

The Commissioner understood because only an idiot wouldn't be able to connect the dots. Bane so far had shown that he was no idiot. There was only one thing to expect with absolute certainty.

And this was on top of several bombings linked with the Joker, a rampaging "Monster Man," and the murder of Quincy Sharp. The GCPD was been stretched to limits it had never known before and it would only be a matter of time until something snapped.

"So what now?" Sarah's voice broke him out of thoughts, bringing Gordon back to the here and now. There were other eyes on him, from other officers to administrators of other precincts, right down to Petit and Sawyer. Everyone waited for his answer, though they didn't need to. He understood why they did so; these were uncertain times and even the loudest of them were at a loss of what they could do.

The Commissioner, he was happy to say, wasn't.

"If Bane is anything like the people who came before him, there will be retaliation," he stated. "We can expect no less, and everyone is going to be watching him for what he'll do. Bane can't afford to let this slide, otherwise he shows weakness. Our question is where and when he'll strike."

"That's bullshit. We can't just sit on our asses and wait for that asshole to tear us a new one!" Petit practically exploded in his seat.

"What do you expect us to do?" Sawyer spoke up unexpectedly. "We have no idea where he is now, nor do we have anything he wants badly enough to risk coming back into the open. Using Tough Tony again won't be enough to draw this guy out."

"And what, wait like sitting ducks?" Petit demanded.

"That's something we can't do. We know retaliation is coming, so we need to head it off. The best way we can do that is to limit what options he has so that if he does try something, we'll be ready for it," Gordon stated. "Let's come up with some ideas while we still have the time."

He allowed for a moment of silence before the others in the room began to shoot out ideas and others warm up to them or knock them down. Some sounded alright, but there was something missing from them. Yes, go after the money, but how? Where? Who? Based on what undercovers knew, Bane was getting a stranglehold on all criminal activity. Where he began and ended was still unknown.

A shake up seemed fine, but again, where and who. Then there would be the accusations of police harassment and brutality. Sure, a stake out could be considered, but it always came back to the two questions of where and who.

Whatever it was these ideas were missing, the Commissioner didn't know, but he was sure he'd be able to recognize something that would be what they needed to do. He just had to hear it and then he would know that was the ticket. But so far, everything was too...cautious. Not that that wasn't something they needed to be.

A knock on the war room door was heard, but Gordon didn't pay it any attention. That was someone else's problem. Sarah's problem, as it turned out, when she got out of her seat and listened to what the officer on the side had to say. A moment later, the Lieutenant—and his wife—returned to the table and dropped a bombshell.

"How about a raid?" she asked.

"Where?" Sawyer asked, the "who" question waiting as a follow-up.

"An anonymous tip just came in. There's a weapons dump at a storage facility, something like a U-Store-It. The tip said that two individuals of Hispanic descent were seen there and with some heavy firepower—the kind that would give any of our officers probable cause and take out their firearms."

"And this was from an anonymous tip?" Sawyer questioned, clearly skeptical.

"As I said, we only just received it." Sarah shrugged her shoulders.

As a back and forth began, Gordon thought about that information. A weapons dump with some Spanish speaking men? Sounded like Bane might be involved. Still, they had rules they needed to follow so some follow up was needed.

"Was there anything more to the tip?" the Commissioner asked.

"Tipster gave the number of the storage unit," Sarah added.

How convenient. How did this person have such important information, or more importantly how did he get it? It sounded like the kind of intel that they needed right now. The Commissioner couldn't help but be suspicious about it.

However, what if it was all true? In that case, they couldn't afford not to investigate and seize this potential weapons dump. If it did belong to Bane, it would help to weaken his position, wouldn't it? His men tended to use military-grade weaponry, not the kind of stuff you found at your local wholesaler.

"It wouldn't hurt to check it out, and if there is something, we can take the initiative," Sarah was arguing now.

"With this kind of information, we're going to need a warrant first. This isn't just probable cause and we can't legally enter a place owned by somebody, probably a private citizen," Sawyer pointed out.

"If it even is a citizen," Petit snarked.

"Do we have anything else?" Gordon cut in before it went any further. After waiting a moment, "We check this out. If it's legit, and Bane is involve, this could hurt him. We can't afford not to take the chance. I'll contact the DA's office, get us a warrant, and then we'll go in."

* * *

It was always important to test your creations before you went all in on them. Crane knew this and wasn't about to throw away his former life as a researcher. Thanks to his change in fortunes, as well as the increase in free time, he had been hard at work on a new strain of his fear toxin.

So far, what he had hoped he had developed was a strain that had all the fear-inducing effects that his original formula had, but with one key difference. In the original, it had to be in aerosol form and absorbed through the lungs to have the fear response activated. This new one was intended to be a liquid version of the toxin.

There were many more applications to it if he could figure out the correct molecular structure. No more would he have to rely on having a tool that could be neutralized by a common, store bought, cloth-based air filter. A liquid version could be utilized in so many different ways.

The previous night, Crane believed he had found his new strain. So, when his new partner-in-crime struck out to find that traitorous Hugo Strange, he had donned on his old Scarecrow wardrobe and had taken to the streets himself. The outfit itself was worn, fraying, and patched in way too many places. It made him look not only penniless, but homeless as well, and not the ones that still had a few of their possessions with them.

Unlike the homeless populations, he had a new accessory in the form of a gauntlet, one that allowed him to attach syringe needles to the tips of his fingers. The device was filled with the new fear toxin, ready to be tested as well.

Unfortunately, due to the increase in violence in the city, people were keeping off the streets, hiding themselves away until morning when it was marginally safer to be out and about. On the other hand, the former scientist had no qualms with doing a little breaking and entering himself.

Which is exactly what he did. The where was irrelevant. So was the who. All that mattered was that someone was home, and indeed they were. Already to bed, a young couple unaware to the world as they slept the night away. Completely oblivious to the danger they were in.

A quick search of the home did not provide anything suitable to bind the two with, such as a rope or perhaps a pair of handcuff in case their sexual appetites leaned in that direction. The young male, though, did have some belts in the closet, and while not ideal, they would serve so long as he tied them correctly.

There was some anxiety, a concern that the two would wake up while he was looping the cheap leather belts around wrists and the slats that made up the headboard of the bed, but thankfully earlier childhood experiences had given him the unique skills to accomplish the feat. Or perhaps the pair were a couple of heavy sleepers. Either way, it resulted in success. Now, to wake them up.

Another simple solution; like all adults these days tended to have, there was an alarm clock on the bedside table. Though an alarm was set, Crane merely had to turn it off, fiddle with it for a moment and reset the alarm to a more present time. In fact, it should be going off right...about…

The shrill beeping of the clock filled the room and disturbed the sleeping occupants. Their heads instinctively jerked up, bodies tensing before relaxing. Sleep muddled minds had yet to detect their current restrained state, though the male's arms began to jerk with a groan accompanying them. He was going to try to turn the clock off.

Was, being the key word, because only now did he detect something was wrong. "The hell?" a sleep-addled voice swore as a head slid against the pillow to look up to the headboards.

"Why can't I move my arms?" the female subject groaned.

"Don't be too alarmed," Crane spoke at last, waking the pair up and attracting their attention. "This is just a little experiment, don't be frightened—yet."

"Who the fuck are you?!" the male swore, struggling with his bondage. Hmm, who knew how long that belt was going to last? And the headboard didn't appear to be very sturdy either. Best to hurry this up just in case.

"I may not appear like it, but I am a scientist, and I am in need of some guinea pigs for a little experiment of mine. I need to see what it can do and you happen to be the lucky two I picked," the costumed researcher explained, all the while fiddling with the contraption on his right hand.

Straightening his fingers, he smiled in triumph behind his mask as four needles slid up along the back of his digits and settled on the tips of his fingers. Thin, clear tubes extended back along his hand to his wrist and to the store of his new toxin waiting to be injected.

"Shit," the male said, eyes glued to the needles.

"Do save you breath," Crane recommended as he took a step closer to his two test subjects. "You'll be needing it very shortly."

"Keep those goddamn things away from me!" the male swore trying to squirm away and pushing right into the female.

With his other hand, the Scarecrow pressed down on the male. "Hold still. This is the first time I'm testing this invention of mine." Without waiting to clean the area with some alcohol first, the ragged-looking man stabbed the needles into the male's chest and watched as a yellow liquid fill the empty tubes and enter the syringes. The male cried out, struggling against the masked scientist, but was unable to escape the thin man's unlikely strength.

Pulling the needles out, he turned to the female who squeaked and tried the same futile escape as her beau. Into the chest, right above the left breast, he injected his toxin into her while the injected male's breathing began to quicken.

"We'll give it a minute," the Scarecrow remarked as he took a step away from the bed. "Once the toxin has been in your system long enough, we'll begin talking."

That, perhaps, might not be as long as he expected. The male's eyes were staring straight at him, dilating as sweat began beading on his skin. Already, he could see the familiar signs of the fight-or-flight response. It seemed like it was fast-acting, more so than he had anticipated.

He couldn't help it; the masked man gave a chuckle and only then did the screaming start.

* * *

He wasn't sure he should be doing this. With the advancement of technology, you would think this wasn't a problem anymore. Yet, old habits die hard. While it wasn't an Earth-shattering decision, it could be consequential to many people.

Should he, or should he not call his girlfriend before her plane took off?

Airlines always made the request for passengers to turn off their phones before take off. It had something to do with the phone signals interfering with the traffic control tower and their relaying information to pilots. There was a long line of aircraft crashes that were blamed because someone couldn't hold on ten minutes to make a phone call.

Now, there were some differences with this case. For instance, Queen Industries' company jet would be taking Dinah and Red Robin to Florida, so it wasn't like a couple hundred people would die if he were to make the call. On the other hand, he kinda liked these two, one more than the other.

Decisions, decisions.

Absently, Ollie hit the call button and dumbly stared at his phone's screen as it initiated the call. Faintly, he heard one ring, then two. It wasn't too late to hang up now.

A third ring, and then he heard a familiar voice. " _Hello?"_

Immediately, Ollie shoved his phone up to his ear and spoke into the receiver. "Hey, Pretty Bird," he greeted.

" _Hey yourself,"_ Dinah replied good-naturedly. " _To what do I owe this expected call?_ "

"Oh, I just wanted…" he trailed off as the blonde's words made sense in his head. "What do you mean 'expected'?"

" _Well, we've hardly talked the last couple of days. I figured you'd want to talk before I hit the Caribbean beaches."_

"Am I right to assume that you plan on a short vacation, one that requires not-so-modest swimwear, if any?" the billionaire questioned.

" _Well, now that you mention it…"_

"Tell the pilot to not take off. There's been a change in passengers. I'm sure that Red Robin kid will understand."

He heard Dinah chuckle on the other hand. " _I'm sure he will. Anyways, is there something you needed to talk to me about? If so, better make it quick. The pilot's getting ready for take off."_

Ollie found himself rubbing the back of hisnheck with one of his hands. See, he hadn't really planned this phone call out, so he wasn't sure what he wanted to say. It was quite a quandary. Still, he had made the call, so he might as well make the most of it.

"I just wanted to wish you a safe trip. Don't do anything too dangerous," he ended up telling her after a moment.

" _I appreciate the concern,"_ Dinah responded warmly. " _Don't get yourself killed watching over Gotham for me."_

That made the blond man pause. "Heeey, what's that supposed to mean? I'll have you know I've watched over my own city, thank you very much."

" _And I'm impressed, really. Though, I do doubt your city has suffered two different prison breaks and had a muscle-bound hitman try to take it over one block at a time."_

Well, she had him there. "Touche."

Suddenly, his phone made a ringing sound in his hear, causing Ollie to pull it away from his face. At the top of the screen, he saw a text banner, one that told him another of his company's jets had taken off from Jump City. Moving the phone back to the side of his face, he said, "Hey, I just got word that your back-up just took off from Jump."

" _Thanks. I'll let Red Robin know."_ A pause. " _In all seriousness, Ollie, take care of yourself."_

"You don't have to worry about me, Pretty Bird. I'll be right as rain."

He could practically see the smirk on Dinah's face. " _You better be. Alright, I have to go now. You be safe and I'll be right back."_

"Hey now, careful with that. People have a tendency to not come back after making that promise."

" _Since when?"_

"Tom Hanks in Cast Away."

Now she was shaking her head while fighting back a smile, Ollie was sure of it. " _Behave."_

"You sure? Because I thought you liked it when I misbehaved."

There was a pause before, " _Yeah, I do, but now isn't the time. Later, Ollie."_

And with that, the call ended, the cell phone beeping to indicate as much. Lowering his phone, Ollie looked blankly at a wall. It wasn't an exciting wall by any stretch of the imagination; it just happened to be right in front of him.

In all seriousness, he hoped those two would be alright. This prison place did not sound like a pleasant place to be. Still, if there was anyone that could take care of themselves, it was Dinah.

She just better not drop the soap in the washroom.

* * *

The air was musty and old. This was due to the room being locked away, sealed tight to keep all sounds and smells contained.

The room itself was nothing more than a glorified cellar—a basement if you will. However, it was dank and musty from leakage, stained with fluids be it water or bodily.

Ra's al Ghul entered the room, his face a permanent mask of fury and disdain. His men had secured the room earlier in the evening, their presence visible to him. Each man stood an even distance away from the other, lining the wall all the way to the opposite wall. They were at attention, hands at their sides, posture stiff.

"The room is just as it was found, Master," Ubu informed the Demon's Head, the manservant standing to the right and behind the older man. "Nothing has been disturbed."

Ra's sincerely hoped so. His senses told him something wrong had been done in this place. The air, the stains, the scene, it was all wrong.

There was little to concern himself at the entrance of the room. What drew the ancient man's attention was a small stone altar towards the back of the room, perhaps two-thirds of the way in. It stood to waist-height and was stained with an old, dark substance long since dry considering the flaking present. This was the primary reason for the sense of wrongness in the room.

After all, Ra's knew the sight of dried blood.

The dark stain itself was deep within the stone, indicating multiple uses, though the number itself was indeterminable. At the very least, it had not been used recently. Moving closer to the altar, Ra's scowl harden. There was only one reason for such a sight and he detested it.

As if to confirm what he already knew, his steely blue eyes moved to a mantle that was situated at head-height on the back wall. There were many totems on the shelf, all undoubtedly with some sort of symbology. There was a small bell along with a set of antlers from some creature, perhaps a deer. There was a small box as well, partially opened with pentagrams drawn into its surface. An old chalice, its luster long lost due to poor maintenance, was next to the box.

However, at the center of these items was a totem Ra's knew all too well. Whomever made it was adept in the art of cryptotaxidermy. Ra's was certain the creature used as its base was formerly a bat, one that had its lower body transformed to a humanoid form, with longs legs and a bloated stomach. The upper body was much like a bat's, its arms spread out wide and its fanged mouth open. It was covered in bat hair, painstakingly applied all over the totem.

The very sight of it disgusted Ra's. He had suspected to find the followers of Barbatos in this dark city and he was not disappointed. One only needed to take into considering the occultists' fascination with bats. All over the world, they had been in action, performing despicable rituals that should have long since been buried and forgotten.

Black Magic—in particular, Blood Magic—Ra's detested it. Ever since he had come across it in his first century of life, he had made it his mission to destroy every semblance of its existence whenever he found it. Temples, places of worship, and even its practitioners had been hunted down and burned, erasing their existence from the face of the planet.

While the Demon's Head had once considered using such magics, he had reneged on the idea due to what such magics did to the planet. Blood Magic had a way of twisting and ruining everything it touched and the environment was not spared. To this, Ra's was adamant on making sure its practice was never performed. It was one of his many lifelong crusades and one he was most successful at.

After all, how many blood mages were in positions of power?

"Make records," Ra's ordered then, his voice carrying throughout the room. His eyes never wavered from the totem of Barbatos. "I want everything as it was to be documented—then destroyed. Ensure this room never suffers such desecration again."

With that, Ra's spun around on his heels and swiftly made his way to the exit. He had no doubt his orders would be carried out in full.

However, this was only one more piece of evidence. Barbatos and his followers had turned their eyes to Gotham, no doubt with something nefarious in mind. It had been perhaps a year since he had found one of the first hidden sacrificial altars, and each subsequent one had led him to the Detective's city. How the Detective had missed their activities, he did not know, but with his current whereabouts unknown, it fell to him and his Fangs to correct that oversight.

Though Ra's had every intention on leaving, he found himself stopping just before the doorway. A glance to Ubu had told him the manservant had news for him.

"Speak."

Ubu's head tilted towards him. "Master, we are currently being watched."

This did not faze Ra's in the slightest. "By whom?"

"A man in black, heavily-armed, and wearing a mask resembling an owl."

Ah, another matter the Detective had failed to resolve. What a mess he had left behind. "See that he is captured and brought to me. Living or deceased matters very little."

* * *

To Guest: He better be quick about it, whatever it is. Tough Tony ain't no one's fool. He'd be hightailing it out of the city very quickly.


	15. I'd Say You Think We're At War

The door rattled, rumbling as it was raised up and allowed light into the darkened room. With flashlight attachments mounted on their guns, the police officers entered the cramped space searching for any signs of life or potential traps. Finding neither, they holstered their weapons and took in the sight in the stockpile of boxes stacked on top of one another.

With Sarah at his side, Commissioner Gordon took his place in the opening of the storage room and felt tempted to whistle. Their anonymous tipster had come through all right. This definitely looked like a cache of weapons.

The boxes were more like containers, the kind that typically held guns and incendiary devices for mass transport. There were even letters and numbers inked on the sides of them—serial numbers, obviously. Someone hadn't removed them and it would only be a matter of time until they were traced back to their place of origin.

Everything up to this point had been done by the book. They had their undercover agents keep an eye on this place and had seen an unusual amount of traffic in and out of this place. The traffic consisted of dark-skinned individuals who matched the profiles of the type of men known to work for Bane. Some would argue that was racial profiling, but then they would have to point a finger at Bane for only employing people of that skin tone.

Meanwhile, a warrant was written up and signed off on in quick order. Instead of rushing up to the storage facility, however, Gordon had had everyone come in subtly, using unmarked cars and keeping their guns holstered until they were deep inside. If any of Bane's men were here, or about to arrive, he didn't want them spooked. Could they have waited for some of them to show up, then go in? Sure, but time was of the essence and there was no telling when any would show up.

It was better to weaken Bane as much as possible in the shortest amount of time. Retaliation was coming, no question, and Gordon would rather have the bastard unable to hit them at his full power. Taking away some of his toys should do that.

"We're going to need some bigger trucks," his wife remarked.

Yes, yes they wound. This place was crammed from all of the boxes, which allowed very little room to move about. Of course, this raised the question that if there was one place like this in the city, how many others were there?

"We may need a bigger impound lot," he quipped back. "First thing is first, we need to figure out where this stuff came from. If Bane has a supply line for it, and we trace it to the source, we can cut it off."

"Shall we get forensics in here so we can start getting a case built?" Sarah asked. After getting an affirmative from him, she added, "Betting that there are serial numbers on them?"

"These weapons have to come from somewhere. They didn't show up in some stocking as a Christmas present." Not once did he take his eyes off the cache. "The faster we can disarm him, the longer it will take for him to hit us again. That's time we can use to put ourselves on the offensive and Bane on the defensive."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you think we're at war," Sarah remarked.

Taking his eyes off the weapon crates, Gordon turned to his wife. "Aren't we?"

"Um, Sir? I think we may have a problem." It was one of the officers who had ventured into the storage unit and was currently studying the side of one of the crates.

"What is it?" the Commissioner demanded, taking a step closer to the speaking officer.

"These numbers here, the writing, I've seen this before. It was back when I was doing tours in Afghanistan," the officer answered. "When we weren't bringing fresh troops in, we were bringing in replacements for our equipment—guns, tanks, jeeps, spare parts."

"Where are you going with this?" Gordon pressed, not liking where this was going.

"You see the codes on the side? These are the ones the Army uses for inventory," the officer told him, gesturing the series of numbers and letter on the side of the crate. "The sequence is different, but the style is all us."

"Let me get this straight: are you saying that all this," the Commissioner gestured to the crates around them, "came from us? From the U.S.?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," the officer confirmed.

That...that was a bombshell. Hopefully not literally as they were surrounded not only by guns, but weapons designed to go boom. If those serial numbers did belong to the American military, how did someone like Bane get his hands on them?

And there was another thought.

"When we first started apprehending these men, Bane's army, what kind of weapons were found with them?" he asked.

"I'll get on that," Sarah said, her tone of voice reflecting the seriousness of the situation.

Something stunk here. You didn't need to be the world's greatest detective to figure it out. Now, this may all be coincidence, but they were going to need to look into this anyway. Things weren't making sense anymore. This latest discovery was going to keep them off-balance until they could resolve it.

That was the last thing they needed because the clock was ticking. Any hesitation now could prove disastrous.

They couldn't afford anymore setbacks.

* * *

The high-backed chair had been erected to his specifications. Ra's rested his back against it, arms propped up on the armrests.

The upper level within the main room atop Wonder Tower was furnished for his comfort. The walls were glass, allowing him to see out into the rest of the chamber with its constant activity. Off to the right side of his chair stood Ubu, looking impassively towards the entrance to this observatory deck. Off to the left and forward was Talia, a hand ever present on the shoulder of her young charge.

Word had reached them that the spy outside of the desecrated basement had been captured. A fight had occurred as expected. This spy had been well-trained, having gone so far as to fell two of his men. They had then surrendered upon the arrival of more of his assassins. It had been a simple affair.

Perhaps too simple.

Through the entrance, the spy was ushered through, two guards behind him, their swords drawn and ready to strike. The spy seemed unafraid, unconcerned by their presence and the ten hidden men ever watching. This man's hands were bounced behind their back, though this didn't seem to concern the captive.

Ra's took in the sight of their dark clothing and the owl mask they wore. If he recalled correctly, this was a Talon, the ultimate weapon of the Court of Owls. Their effectiveness was on par with his own men, ever watchful, always hidden in the shadows until they struck. One could say they were familiar to him.

Too familiar.

Undoubtedly, this Talon was confident in their skills. The numerous weapon holsters on their chest indicated as much—the weapons themselves being removed before his arrival here. The assassin must have felt he could escape his bonds before either of the guards could strike him down; that was the only reason he would have allowed himself to be displayed as such.

The guards slowed to a stop as the Talon stood before the Demon's Head. There was a moment of silence before Ubu audibly growled. "Bow before the Eternal Man, Infidel."

The Talon played along as he inclined his head in a manner of respect. "Eternal Man, it is an honor to meet you," he offered as a greeting.

"You have heard of me?" Ra's asked, his eyes never once moving away from the assassin.

"There have been whispers of a man of your statue in the dark recesses of the world. I and my comrades have heard of these rumors during our travels."

Ra's al Ghul was not pleased. He had spent quite some time in making sure any and all word of his person was nonexistent. One did not lead an organization such as the Demon's Fang by leading it out of the shadows, even if it were only a toe. "What business have you?" he demanded darkly, his eyes narrowing at the man before him. "You have been following my caravan."

"A simple matter, Ancient One," this Talan assured him. "It has come to the attention of my own masters of your presence in Gotham. They wish to convene with you to discuss your ambitions towards their territory. I have been authorized by the Court of Owls to lead you to a place of their choosing for parley."

Ra's raised an eyebrow. Parley was it? He was not so naive. That they viewed this city as their own possession spoke to what they believed of his presence here. A place of their choosing only meant they were intending on an ambush and he was not one to give another man such power over him.

"Then your masters must see me as a fool," he replied after a moment. "Surely they cannot expect me to walk into such an arrangement. At the very least they could offer a neutral setting."

The Talon stared at him before nodding, acknowledging his words. "Then you are who they believe you are to be. They are willing to meet at a neutral site."

This was a test? How droll. "Tell me," he spoke then, "why does someone of your skills serve these Owls?"

"That is how it has always been and how it shall always be," the Talon responded immediately.

Ah, loyalty, unabashed and unwavering. He could respect such devotion. "Even while the Court itself is at such a low point?" he pressed.

"The Court of Owls is never weak," he defended. "We are always there, watching, waiting. We wait at the hearth; we watch over your bed. The Court of Owls is eternal, forever strong, forever powerful. We stepped out into the light once and now we return to the shadow, our rightful place in this city of nights. All those who interpret that as weakness will learn the folly of that assumption in due time."

The corner of Ra's mouth twitched up. "Well said, Talon. Such spirit is rare in this age. Very well; return to your masters. I will join this parley at a neutral site. There is a house at the outskirts of the city that will serve our purposes. It is called Harbor House; I believe your masters will know of this place."

The Talon stared at him in silence for a long moment. Out of the corner of his eye, Ra's took note of the look Talia's charge was giving him, one of disbelief. Talia squeezed her hand tightly on the boy's shoulder, causing him to direct a scowl up to her. After several moments, the Talon gave a stiff nod of his acceptance. "I will inform the Court of your request. I believe their reply will be favorable."

Ra's inclined his head and the two guards then led the Talon from the observation deck. He would be released to return to his masters. Absently, the Demon's Head raised a hand, his fingers stroking the strands of his beard.

"Why would you suggest that place?" the boy suddenly demanded, drawing the attention of the room to him. It seemed Talia could not hold back his outburst any longer. "Don't you know what that Harbor House is? It's—"

"I know very well what Harbor House is," Ra's interrupted. "As do this Court of Owls. It is all the more likely they will show themselves here than anywhere else, especially after all the damage the Detective has done to them over the years."

"But that's—"

"Enough," Talia interjected, her very tone reprimanding the boy and causing him to shut his mouth. "The matter is settled."

Indeed it was. Ra's was intrigued by this offer of parley. The Court of Owls wished to speak with him and it was only professional courtesy that he acknowledged them. He would listen to their leaders and that would be that. However, if they believed they could bully him, dominate him, then they were sorely mistaken.

Though owls were natural predators, not even they could dispatch a demon.

* * *

If there was one awesome thing about the Bat-bunker, it had a locker room.

Stephanie wasn't sure if this was an intentional design by its Bat-owner, but she wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. In fact, the others weren't either. The little room the blonde was in was lined with lockers, each one assigned to each vigilante. A thin bench was in the middle of the room, where the teen sat, pulling on one of her dark blue boots.

For a moment she paused, her leg raised up in front of her as her arms stretched out so that her hands could grab onto the boot's mouth. How had she gotten here? When she had started out, it wasn't to save the city—not like this. She had wanted to rid the streets of wannabe vigilantes; now she was in the middle of a war with Hispanic mercenaries.

Needless to say, a SPOILER ALERT wasn't going to stop these guys.

No, here she was, with rudimentary training in self-defense—she honestly couldn't call it anything other than that since she wasn't really an aggressive girl—and a belt of weapons. This was a long way from using her mom's spandex for an awesome outfit.

How the hell did she get here?

Her original purpose was long lost with these other, serious people. Stephanie found her normally social personality shrinking in on itself when she was with the likes of Huntress and Black Canary. They were the ultimate versions of Girl Power and they were using it to help people. That was far and away from the slogan the girls at her school used it for. A part of her even longed to only have to worry about their shallowness.

But no, now she was part of this group somehow. She was in higher standing than Jason, but he was the new guy, the bottom of the totem pole. Yet, she was clearly below those women that formed the Birds of Prey and even the guys like Nightwing and Red Robin—who was kinda cute, she was willing to admit.

 _I wonder what he looks like under that mask…_

Stephanie daydreamed for a moment, fantasizing what had to be a handsome face behind that domino mask. He had to be good-looking, she was sure of it. Only good-looking people needed the use of a mask and all, to make sure that they weren't recognized and stuff.

The blonde girl sighed then, lowering her leg to the floor. Knowing her luck, Red Robin had a girlfriend already. What kind of girl was he interested in anyways? It had to be someone that knew how to kick butt for sure. She also had to be, like, drop dead gorgeous, that was a must. And she had to have a good sense of humor and morals and be a good guy.

A thought occurred to her then. She was pretty, wasn't she? She knew boys thought she looked hot, so she had that going for her. Now, while she wasn't an expert in butt-kicking, she was learning. She had a terrific sense of humor and her morals were pretty spot on and she was with the good guys.

Huh, maybe she was Red Robin's type.

Awesome.

Now then, when was he going to ask her out?

A scene began to play in front of Stephanie's eyes, one where the door to the locker room opened and Red Robin entered. He then began talking to her and she impressed him with her charm and then they were kissing and—

Suddenly, the door to the locker room was flung open, startling the girl out of her...ahem...thoughts. However, instead of it being Red Robin, there stood Harper, dressed in her Bluebird costume and staring right at her.

What a killjoy.

"Hey, you ready?" Harper asked her, still standing in the doorway.

Stephanie looked down at herself, seeing that her costume was on, save for the cape, hood, and mask. "I'm almost ready," she answered then. "I just need a minute is all."

Harper stared at her for a few seconds. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah, totally. I was just…" Okay, she couldn't talk about her recent fantasy and everything it had turned on. That would just ruin her already questionable vigilante reputation. She needed to be deeper, more mature, more...more…

She sighed. "Do you ever get the feeling you made an incredibly stupid decision?"

Oh why, why did she ask that?

Harper raised an eyebrow at her. "What are you talking about?"

Raising a hand up, she began to wave it over and over in a circle, trying to find the words that would get her out of this little talk. She ended up blurting out the first ones that came to her mind. "I mean this whole vigilante thing. Things are getting way too intense and it gets worse and worse every day. I just...I didn't sign up for this."

Her friend continued to stare at her before she then entered the room, allowing the door to finally swing shut. The blue-haired girl took a seat on the bench next to Stephanie, not once looking away from her. "What exactly did you not sign up for?"

Uh, hello? Had she not been listening? "This! This gang war, crime war—whatever this Bane guy is doing. That thing."

"You mean having some guerrilla fighter from another country declare war on Gotham and begin taking it over block by block while killing everyone in front of him?"

"Yes! That!"

"That's funny. Because I felt something like that would happen eventually."

Stephanie blinked her eyes owlishly. "Wha? Huh? Why? Why would you think like that?"

Harper wasn't looking at her now, instead seeming to be looking right through the lockers in front of her. "You have to admit, Gotham has changed. We don't have your regular criminals anymore. We have people like Victor Fries killing people; we have Two-Face and Black Mask fighting each other in the streets; we have the Court of Owls run by the city's wealthy to keep themselves in power; we have whatever that plant invasion was; and I haven't even mentioned any of the twisted things the Joker does."

Huh, now that she mentioned it, Gotham did have a lot of crazy shit happening. Why hadn't she seen that?

"I don't know about you, Steph, but I knew something like this was coming. It's why I made my taser gun, so that I could be of some use. And maybe when I first started, it wasn't for the best of reasons."

Stephanie was now staring at the other girl. "What did you get in this for?"

"Kinda like everyone else: I was inspired by Batman. And when I first went out, I got the most insane adrenaline rush. Before too long, I had to have that rush over and over. I kinda became an adrenaline junkie."

The blonde girl slowly nodded her acknowledgement. "I kinda wanted to get people off the streets that shouldn't be on them. You know, like middling vigilantes and weekend warriors."

Harper turned her head to regard her again. "Yeah, I know. I was one of those people."

She winced. Yeah, she was kinda hoping Harper had forgotten that.

"But you know, it wasn't a bad idea, Steph. There are people that are getting hurt trying things they shouldn't. If it wasn't for Dick taking us under his wing, I'm pretty sure I would've broken my neck by now doing something I shouldn't be, or getting in over my head."

"That's nice of you to say, but it was selfish of me to think I knew better than others. It's ironic, I wanted to stop unprepared people and there I was, completely unprepared. I still am. I know for certain I shouldn't be caught up with people like Bane."

Another sigh. "I'm just some idiot high school girl that thought she knew better than anyone else. Now look where I am."

"So why don't you get out? No one would blame you."

Huh, why hadn't she left? It wasn't like she was being forced to do this; she could quit anytime she wanted and no one would think less of her. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "Why don't you leave?"

There was a short silence, and then, "Because I'm used to this kind of violence. I live with my brother in a bad part of town and it's not going to get fixed if people just give up on it. I walk by drug dealers and gang bangers everyday on my way to school. Not that long ago, my brother and I were harassed every day."

"And you becoming Bluebird stopped that?"

Harper snorted. "Not one bit. People there don't fear Bluebird; in fact, I can't say I've patrolled my neighborhood in a long time. But what really got those meatheads to back down was Batman. He would swing in every so often and put the hurt on those guys, reminding them who was running things. Slowly, the neighborhood became safer and now I can walk without being mugged every day. Just every other day now."

Stephanie's mouth dropped open, which caused Harper to smirk at her. "Just joking, Steph." She continued to smile at her before she continued, "But without him now, someone needs to watch those streets. I'm not there yet, but I will be soon. And then it'll be Bluebird everyone talks about; it'll be Bluebird who those thugs and punks have to watch out for. I have the skills and I'm getting better; I can't just go back to not doing anything about what is so obviously a problem. Someone has to make my street safer and if I don't, who will?"

Stephanie felt a little numb after hearing that. While she was aware that her friend wasn't in a great living situation, she hadn't expected that. Here she was, living each day with Gotham's criminals right in her face and where was Stephanie? Complaining about life in suburbia. How shallow, how sheltered she had been.

So how could she turn her back on this fight after knowing all of this?

Fact is, she couldn't. She was right there with Harper, in over her head, but she was getting better. Harper had a goal of making her name big enough to protect her little neighborhood. The guidance counselor would be thrilled to even know Harper had a goal, regardless of what it was. So what about her? She didn't have those same fears and realities. She had her mom and her semi-famous dad and that was it. There was no reason for Spoiler to be around.

But maybe, just maybe, Spoiler could be a name people respected.

You know, once this whole Bane thing wrapped up.

"I don't really have your stake in all of this," Stephanie started, searching for her next words. "I kinda had it easier than you."

"Do tell."

The blonde girl heard the mocking note in her "friend's" voice, which caused her to scowl at her. "Do you mind?"

"Sorry. Continue."

"Anyways, I don't have your reason to keep doing this, but I really can't go back to what I was doing. It's like you said, I have these skills"— _sort of_ —"and my eyes are open"— _too open, maybe_ —"so how can I do back to doing nothing? I have to do...I don't know, something?"

"Then we can do that something together," Harper said. "We kinda started at the same time, so we need to watch each other's backs. If there's anything either of us gets out of this, it's at least that."

Stephanie eagerly nodded her agreement. She really liked that aspect of this Network thing.

"And now we're going to get some practice on it. Dick told me we have some work to do tonight."

Oh great, this was perfect—wait, _what?!_

"So hurry up and finished getting dressed. It's time to back up our words."

And Stephanie felt her mood souring. Just when she was starting to get herself motivated, she was getting thrown into the fire. God did this Network thing suck.

* * *

Some refinements were made, some new calculations completed, but it was all done for the safe of his safety.

Hugo Strange's safety.

In one hand, he held the syringe that possessed his potent Monster Man serum, marveling at its transparent majesty. This was it, the latest batch, perfected from his experiment with Mario Falcone. Thanks to that man's sacrifice, Strange had been able to isolate some of the flaws in the original formula and perfected his chemistry skills alongside his brainchild.

This was it, his masterpiece in all its perfection. The former shrink had to hand it to himself; his brilliance knew no boundaries. Even now, he surprised himself. And who better to do it than himself, Professor Hugo Strange?

All the pieces were together now. He had completed his project. His serum was improved. All that needed to be done now was to put it all together.

But safety would be key. He had noted the amount he had used with Little Mario and documented the changes. The most important side effect he had noticed was a decrease in cognitive ability. For a man such as himself, that was a deal breaker. While Little Mario became more of himself, a brute, Strange would need his brains along with the brawn.

After all, this was all to improve himself.

The Batman was known for his physical prowess, was he not? It was one area in which he himself was at a disadvantage. If he was to prove his superiority over Bane, that man who had dominated Batman with his greater physical might, then Strange would have to play by those rules. He would need strength, something he had always lacked, preferring to focus on improving his mind.

Better late to the game than never; yet, he was going to need to do this slow. Carefully. Too much of a dose too quickly could bring about those adverse effects. Thus, he had gathered a smaller does into a smaller syringe. It was approximately a tenth of what he had injected into the Falcone heir. Based on what effects he would experience, he would add more into his system into he gained what he desired.

Rolling up a sleeve, he wrapped a tourniquet around his upper arm, squeezing and flexing his hand to make the veins more visible. With the syringe placed carefully on the counter, he took a cotton ball and applied it with rubbing alcohol, treating the inside of his elbow where a vein stood out prominently. Retrieving the syringe, he aimed the needle just over the blood vessel and punctured it.

Pressing down on the stopper, Strange observed as the serum entered his blood stream. Removing the needle, he applied alcohol once more and then waited, taking calming breaths of air.

There was an electricity in the air, something that informed anyone around that this was a momentous occasion. At long last, Strange would be the beneficiary of one of his schemes, no longer hiding in the shadows, but up front and center. The Joker would rue those words; likely, the crazed psychiatrist would physically shove those words down that pale maniac's throat.

The sensation was sudden, starting in his heart. It felt like heat, heat that was being spread throughout his body as his heart rate began to increase. The heat became burning as it reached his legs, the intensity especially concerning in his crippled leg. Strange gasped, gripping the counter tightly. He had not anticipated this.

No. No, he had to endure. He was the superior mind, was he not? He would not let a drug conquer him this quickly. He had survived the assault that Two-Face had bestowed upon him; he would survive this.

Teeth clenched tightly as the burning, _burning, BURNING_ became almost too much. Then, as quickly as it had occurred, it receded. It was still present, but not as intense. Strange gasped again, taking in air that he had not known he needed, realizing he had stopped breathing. There, there, that was better. So much better…

Releasing his grip from the counter, Strange felt shock as he noticed that the surface had been decimated by his grip, twisted and broken as chipped pieces fell to the floor. He looked in awe as he raised the appendage to his face, spotting no signs of injury. What marvel was this?

His mind sharpened into focus. A test—he needed another test. Looking down at his legs, he tightened his jaw. Without hesitation, he stood up from the stool he had sat upon and rested all his weight on the limbs. So far so good, he had yet to lose his balance. Taking a leap of faith as it were, he took a single step forward.

And then another. And another.

Before, he had needed a cane to hobble about, his injuries dealt to him by Two-Face crippling him. Now, it was as if the injuries hadn't occurred. As if the assault had never happened! Oh, this, _oh this_ ….

In his elation, Strange strolled throughout the safe house, reveling in this miracle of modern medicine. His journey had even taken him outside into the night where he further tested the strength of his legs on the shoulder-height brick wall that lined the backyard. Placing all of his weight on his good luck, he then kicked out with his previously injured one. Imagine his delight as the brick and mortar crumbled and cracked upon the strike from his kick.

Best of all, his mind was still whole. He had done it. He, Professor Hugo Strange, had triumphed!

But his work was far from finished. This, this was only a single dose. He needed to keep himself focused on the here and now, not lost in fantasy. Though physicality he had gained, he was not yet at the Batman's level, and _ipso facto_ , nowhere near Bane's. He would need more doses, controlled so that he was not lost in the feeling of success.

He had yet to best that masked brute. Only then would victory be his and the superior mind triumphant.

Back inside, then. Time would be needed to allow the serum to be absorbed fully into his body. And then another dose, time allowed to let its effects settled. Then a third, and repeat.

Perhaps his secondary project would need a few more adjustments before he was finished.

* * *

To Guest: Eventually. And it won't just be them


	16. Harbor House

Bird waited outside the bathroom, turned away from it so that he didn't catch a peek by accident. Bane was in there, but hadn't closed the door. Not that there was any concern about what was happening in there.

It was the fact that Bane had taken his mask off and the American-born henchman knew about the larger man's opinion about it. Let's just say there was a reason he wore the mask. It wasn't for pure decoration, or a desire to hide his identity. As if Bane cared if people thought he trying to protect that.

Bird knew the reason, but wouldn't share. That mask was Bane's true face. To see what was under,neath despite already knowing, well, it was a sign of respect that the blond-haired man didn't look.

But just because he was standing just outside the small room didn't mean he kept quiet.

"We lost a good chunk of our hardware. We can still launch an attack, but we don't have the same leeway as before. We'll need to be more careful in the future," he reported, hearing the sound of water gushing from the sink faucet. "For the life of me, I don't know how the cops found it."

"What did we lose?" To the point, as always. Bane wanted to know the extent of the damage.

"A lot of guns, a good chunk of our grenades and RPGs, some ammo. None of our heavy artillery, though; that's still safe."

"For how long?"

Bird didn't have an answer for that. That was because he didn't know how the dump was found. And again, they had underestimated the cops, which was confusing the hell out of him. They hadn't been like this when he had left Gotham all those years ago, when Loeb had still been running things. The cops weren't suppose to be like this. They weren't supposed to be good at their jobs.

Back then, they had been pussies, every single one of them terrified by the sight of a mobster. Falcone had seen to that. He guessed the mob had lost its touch and the answer as to why that was was obvious. Whoever Gordon was, he was no Loeb, that was for sure. That asshole had the GCPD acting faster and more efficient than anticipated.

It was a black mark on Bird since he had assured Bane that the cops were going to be a cakewalk.

"Things get worse, though," Bird continued, because there was no way Bane wouldn't find out this next part. "Instead of telling the whole world about the cache, the cops kept quiet and let a few of our men get ambushed there. One managed to slip away and that's how we even know about this."

"How many did we lose?"

"Four, but after that other disaster, we're really starting to feel the pinch," Bird answered frankly. The ninja attacks; they were still trying to recover from those, so this raid and ambush from the cops couldn't have come at a worse time.

The water shut off. There was movement along with the sounds of rustling fabric. Bane stepped out of the bathroom, mask in place, but missing the tubes in the back of his head. "I grow tired of these losses. We need to regain the initiative and place our enemies on the defensive. I have not come this far to be routed now."

Bird knew that tone of voice. Many a time had Bane used it back in Pena Duro. It was a sign of restlessness, or flat out frustration. Should anyone say or do or be in the wrong place, the masked man would show no hesitation in unleashing his fury on them.

Back then, Bird had the protection in the form of his knowledge on Gotham. But now? Now that they were in Gotham and things weren't going according to plan, the possibility that he was expendable grew by the hour. Yes, Bane did reward loyalty, but he did not tolerate failure. It was only a matter of time until enough failure settled on those massive shoulders, then loyalty wasn't going to cut it.

So he must tread lightly here.

"Perhaps we need to start recruiting?" Bird suggested.

Bane turned his head just to look at him from the periphery of his eye. "Explain."

"Since our manpower is taking a hit, and we're not anywhere close to home, maybe we need to start looking for some local talent," the blond man explained, doing as told. "There has got to be some people here willing to come onto our team, whether because they want a piece of our pie, or they're too scared to stand up to us. They're a resource we could use to bolster our ranks."

"And would they remain loyal to me?" Bane asked sharply. "I chose Zombie, Trogg, and yourself for my inner circle, and you have in turn given me your loyalty. The men from Santa Prisca know me; they know what I am capable of, how I liberated them. These Gothamites have no history with me, and based on the information you have provided to me, they are selfish and will place themselves over me. How can I expect them to die for me if they have no loyalty for me?"

"Then we give them something to be loyal about." Bird shrugged his shoulders almost helplessly. "I know you mentioned me, the guys, and everyone else, but you always did something to earn our loyalty. It's the same concept here, just not in Santa Prisca. If you know how these people tick, they'll be in the palm of your hand."

When Bane didn't immediately shoot the idea down, Bird knew he was on to something. Nonetheless, he remained silent, allowing the mountain of a man to think. Who knew what thoughts passed behind the blank, red eyes of that mask?

Finally, after a long period of silence, Bane spoke, "Have you any candidates in mind? To whom shall I extend my hand?"

Bird couldn't hold back his smirk. "Ever since I came back here, I've been hearing about a new element in this city. They aren't the traditional type. In fact, they didn't start showing up until after the Batman appeared. It's like some kind of response to him. The old guard didn't stand a chance against them, the cops couldn't handle them; they're a force of their own reckoning. I think that plant lady is considered one of them."

"Wild cards," Bane mused. "Their abilities make them difficult to combat. However, the same could be said about controlling them. If these wild cards cannot be controlled, they can pose a threat to myself and my conquest."

"Unless given a motivation to be controlled," Bird pointed out.

"I do not like the thought of trusting those...new elements. However, I refuse to allow my enemies to continue bleeding me dry," Bane remarked. "Go. Seek them out and bring them to me. Find the ones that can be bent to my will, but make sure what they offer is worth my time."

"Only the best," Bird promised.

They were going to have to be. He was going out on a limb here, one that if broken would take him with it. Bane did not need to make any threats to make that much clear; past experience was more than enough. Those who failed too often, no matter how loyal, would pay the price.

Bird would make sure that was one price he would never pay.

* * *

Harbor House was a sprawling mansion on the outskirts of Gotham. It had been constructed at the eve of the city's founding, funded by a Frederick Powers.

His descendant Joseph Powers was currently incarcerated as a leader of the Court of Owls.

Though he was aware of the paltry criticism—as minute as it was—Ra's was very well aware that Harbor House was still in possession of the Court of Owls. In fact, that was why he suggested it. If there was one place the Court in its entirety would gather, it would be here.

His suggestion that it was a neutral site was just a way for these people to underestimate him.

Because the Court was comprised of members from an older generation, they had steadfastly refused to allow Harbor House to fall into squaller. It was regularly maintained, a support staff constantly ensuring all was polished and presentable. The main room was lavishly decorated with tapestries and artwork, some of which Ra's could date three centuries. In fact, one of the tapestries he recognized as a copy of one he kept in a French villa. At worst, he could not fault them in their taste in decor.

As expected, Ra's al Ghul was escorted into the main room, Talons standing guard on either side of the entrance. A couple more were positioned at the back corners of the room, the only ones the Court were allowing to be seen. No doubt there were others in hiding and they would remain that way unless provoked. Behind Ra's, Ubu and Talia flanked him, the boy having been confined to Wonder Tower. His presence would only be a weakness to these people and the Demon's Head never revealed such openings.

Before him, seated in ornamented, high-back chairs, were the remaining leadership of the Court of Owls. Four men in suits and a women in an evening gown watched him approach from behind their porcelain white masks. For a moment, Ra's felt disappointed. Even in a place of their power, they only sent out a few to welcome him.

"Welcome, Honored Guest," one of the men spoke, standing up as he raised an arm up above his head. "The Court of Owls welcomes the Demon's Fang to Harbor House."

"Your welcome is received," Ra's replied as he came to stand before them. "It would seem our surroundings were wisely chosen."

A couple of the court members glanced to each other knowingly, something that did not go unnoticed by the ancient man's eye. "Yes, your choice was excellent," the same court member agreed with him as he took a couple steps so that he stood before the Demon's Head. "Before we go any further, however, I must apologize for the lack of a welcome committee. All has not been good fortune for the Court as of late."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. Before you stands the last remaining members of the Court of Owls. Though our numbers have dwindled, we have only consolidated our power."

It seemed Ra's owed the Detective an apology. He had been more thorough in his hunting of the Court, squeezing them until their numbers had come to these paltry few. That made his job all that much easier.

"I understand you wished to enter a parlay," Ra's intoned, diverting the subject from the initial presentation to the heart of the matter. "It would please me to begin the proceedings."

"As you wish, Ra's al Ghul," another of the men replied. The Demon's Head did not respond to the use of his name. He was unaware that they knew of him and that was concerning. That would require further investigation.

However, he did have an idea as to their method of acquiring of his identity.

"Since the founding of Gotham, the Court of Owls has ruled over it like an owl over its nest," the first court member began. "And as a meadow is an owl's territory, this city is ours. Your incursion into our territory is most troubling to us."

"We would like to know what your intentions are to Gotham," another spoke. "And we would like to assist on this endeavor."

"You wish to seek an alliance?" Ra's questioned.

"Only under the terms that it speeds up your removal of your organization from this city," the same court member replied. "If you have mechanizations for this city, we will be at odds. If you are only here for a small matter, we would like to assist in its success."

The way these people spoke, it was as if they believed themselves to be equals to the Demon's Head. What arrogance. The gall. All of this, Ra's suppressed as he coolly gazed over them. "I suppose you will unleash your Talons against me if I refuse?"

"Only if you are a threat," the first court member assured him. "And as you know yourself, your mere presence is a threat to all."

So that was a yes. "How would the Court benefit the Demon's Fang? Our organizations are...similar. What could you promise that my own men cannot accomplish?"

"As we've said, Gotham is ours. No one knows it quite like we do, from the tallest of skyscrapers to the bricks in its foundation. The Court of Owls _is_ Gotham."

Ra's shook his head. "No, you are no longer."

Those words froze the Court. "I beg your pardon?" the court member asked.

Suddenly, Talia and Ubu acted. With her arms shooting up, Talia had two handguns in her grasp. With a squeeze of their triggers, she fired her weapons simultaneously, her aim ringing true as the heads of the Talons at the back of the room jerked backwards, splashes of blood coating the walls behind them.

In the meantime, Ubu had spun around to face the two Talon guards at the door. Raising one arm up, his hand a fist, a dagger fired out from the gauntlet on Ubu's wrist, the knife impaling one of the Talon's through his throat. Without hesitation, the manservant darted to the dying assassin as they gagged around the steel in their airway. Reaching out with his other hand, he grabbed the hilt of the Talon's sword and drew it, bringing it up just in time for the other Talon guard to strike at him. The clashing of their blades rang throughout the room.

Just as suddenly as they collided, both men pulled back their swords, only to slash at each other again. However, the moment each blade collided with the other, Ubu immediately parried his foe's sword, then promptly cut his sword from one side of his body to the other before him. This allowed him to slice the Talon's sword arm clearly from his body, causing blood to spray out of his newly-formed stump, a wild scream tearing out of his mouth.

With one large step, Ubu made to end the assassin's pain, running his sword through the Talon. The screaming ended just as abruptly.

That, of course, was not the end. Panels in the ceiling suddenly burst apart, five assassins of the Demon's Fang dropping to the floor. They landed silently behind each chair belonging to the court members, their legs bent to brace against their landings. Each one held out swords, stained with fresh flood that dripped from their sharp edges. Undoubtedly, that was the blood of recently deceased Talons.

Suddenly, parts of the walls to the sides and at the back exploded, sending pieces of sheetrock and wood in all directions. More assassins poured into the room, each one coming to stand in an offensive stance, their weapon of choice—be it knife, sword, or gun—held at the ready.

That was when each court member found a sword pressed up against their throats. "What is the meaning of this?!" one of them demanded.

"I thought that would have been obvious," Ra's al Ghul intoned blandly. "I have refused your offer."

The men and woman were quiet, each trembling with terror. "Now, it is time for you to listen," the Eternal Man spoke. "It has been far too long since your Court was powerful. Your hubris and opulence led you to where you are now, at the mercy of myself."

"But why?" one of them asked, their voice shaking with fear. "Why are you doing this?"

Ra's tilted his head back, haughtily looking down on them. "It is not for my glory that you have been reduced to this state. It is for a man I once respected that my will be done this night. Long ago, there was a man who I personally trained. He was the most capable student I had the pleasure of teaching and his aptitude was a marvel in and of itself.

"But then he left. I was...disappointed in his decision, and all those I sent after him were returned in pieces. He is perhaps the only man to leave the Demon's Fang successfully.

"A man such as this is one you never leave unwatched. So I watched and observed as he found his way to your doorstep, becoming one of your greatest weapons...and then to see you casually discard him in favor of advancing technology, all the while his loyalty never wavered until his demise."

Ra's then leaned towards the court member standing before him, his blue eyes ablaze with fury. "You ask me why I now hold you at sword point? Now I respond: it is for my respect of David Cain."

In an instant, the court member stilled. Had it not been for their bleach-white masks, the ancient one would have witnessed the paling of their faces. Perhaps their masks would suffice instead.

"Now, there is one thing you can assist me with. When Cain left the Demon's Fang, he took with him a child. I would very much like them returned to me."

And then the shaking recommenced. "We…" one of them sputtered. "We don't know what Cain did with...this child. Are you sure he took one?"

So Cain kept the child a secret. Pity. It was wise of him to do so, but still, pity.

Straightening out his posture, Ra's looked down at the Court from his nose. "Look around you. Your last stronghold has been breached. Your last remaining Talons have been dispatched. You are the last of your people. How you believed yourselves to be my equal is sheer delusion. I lured your here with the assumption that this stronghold of yours was neutral territory. As you lulled yourself into complacency, my men found yours and slain them. I was firmly in control of this house before I ever stepped foot into it."

His eyes hardened. "I have been around for hundreds of years, longer than the years you have lived combined. I have clashed with some of the most brilliant military minds the world has ever known. I have withstood all forms of assault and treachery from people with power beyond your imagination. No, your standing this night is that of a mouse to a lion and you will be torn to pieces by my fangs."

Quivering, the woman asked, "What are you?"

"I am the Head of the Demon and you are nothing."

Simultaneously, his assassins slashed with their blades, blood erupting from the court members' throats. With a flourish of his cloak, Ra's turned his back on the dying fools, marching towards the room's exit, Talia and Ubu following his lead.

And thus was the ignoble end of the Court of Owl.

* * *

The Network was in action. Following the Monster Man incident, it was decided they couldn't hold off not gathering more intel on their situation. While Bane was the major player in town, one that they needed to figure out how to take down, it was clear there were other players at work as well.

Namely, the person that unleashed the Monster Man. It was no accident that brute had been set out into the city. Now, whether that was an omen of things to come, or just an accidental experiment gone wrong, was unknown. They needed to get to the bottom of this quickly.

So it was decided that the Network would divide into two groups. One would be looking into Bane's activities while the other delved into the Monster Man mystery. After much discussion, Huntress was chosen to look into the Monster Man.

That wasn't her first preference for the record.

She much rather preferred sticking it to Bane. However, the reason for her inclusion on the Monster Man case was due to the fact the GCPD had it in their custody. It was then theorized that since she had spent so much time with Batman, she could get into the place easily and get the info they needed.

Never would she thought her time with Batman would bite her in the ass like this.

So she begrudgingly accepted the assignment. Even as she navigated the ventilation system, she internally grumbled. At the very least, she wasn't alone.

Behind her, she could hear the sounds of the rest of her team following her through the shaft. Manhunter had elected to come with her—why, she didn't know since they were cordial to each other at best and blew each other off at worst—along with two of the rookies. Bluebird and Spoiler were taking up the rear, making the most noise out of the four of them.

A big reason why those two were with her was their vulnerability going up against Bane. If something went down on the Bane operation, they weren't exactly in the best position to protect themselves. Huntress had raised that same concern with the even greener Red Hood, but Nightwing said he would be keeping an eye on the kid. At the very least, they agreed that of the three, two of them had to be on the "safer" op.

So Huntress had a plan in mind for them. Bluebird had the big taser gun on her, so she would keep an eye on the door to the Monster Man's cell. Spoiler could act as an advanced scout to alert them to approaching cops. In the purple-clad woman's mind, that seemed like the best use of their skills at the moment. Plus, if need be, it kept the two of them far away should the Monster Man try to go on another rampage.

Up ahead, Huntress caught sight of a grate. Keeping at her pace, she reached it after a minute or so, peering through the openings into the room beyond it. Due to the GCPD bursting at the seams with criminals, they had to get creative with how and where to store the Monster Man.

Their solution turned out to be the basement.

The Monster Man was covered in chairs and large ones too. You could've tied an elephant with them from how big they were. Its back was pressed up against the wall, the chains pinning it to the brick surface. It's arms were spread to either side while the legs were tied together. A light from a hanging light fixture was the only source of lighting on. Hopefully there were other lights since Huntress was willing to bet someone would be sued for these conditions.

Searching the rest of the room, she found no signs of the cops. That didn't set well with her considering how much effort they had taken to take this bad boy down. Then again, they didn't want to let the cops know they were even here.

They would just have to be on their guard.

Working on the grate, it took awhile before Huntress managed to remove it from the vent, letting it drop to the floor below. She winced at the sound of it clattering below. "You couldn't have made that louder?" Manhunter grumbled from behind her.

 _Hey, this isn't as easy as Batman made it look, alright?_ Huntress groused in her head. Slowly, she slid forward and poked her head out into the room, looking around for the police and finding none. Waiting several more moments, she listened intently for the sound of approaching footsteps, hearing none.

Okay, this lack of security was really getting absurd…

That's when she froze. As she looked to her left, she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye. Twisting her head so that she looked up at the ceiling, she caught sight of a security camera, one that was trained on the Monster Man. No wonder the cops seemed so lax with security.

"Okay, we've got one camera watching the Monster Man," she spoke softly as she turned her head to look back into the ventilation shaft. "I can see...only the one."

"That's not something we can just turn off," Manhunter responded. "We tamper with that thing and we'll cause the entire building to come running down here."

That was Huntress' thought exactly. Suddenly she wished she was paranoid about how weird there weren't any police down here.

"I think I can do something about that," Bluebird suddenly said. "If you give me a few minutes, I might be able to loop the video feed and no one will be the wiser about it."

Hmmm, it seemed it was a good idea to bring Bluebird with her. "What do you need to do?" she asked immediately.

"I just need access to the camera itself."

"Okay. Manhunter and I will position ourselves on the floor, out of sight of the camera. Bluebird, work your magic; do whatever you have to do. Spoiler, stay in the shaft until we have the all-clear. If things change, I want you to bolt and let the others know what happened here."

Without waiting for confirmation, Huntress maneuvered herself out of the vent, dropping to the floor where she landed silently. Immediately, she moved to stand right beneath the security camera, looking up at it to make sure it didn't suddenly tilt downward. While unlikely, one didn't take unnecessary chances.

Manhunter soon landed on the floor, the sound of her feet echoing throughout the room. The Monster Man growled, twitching for a moment before going still. The brunette stared at it for a moment before she slid into the corner.

That's when Bluebird poke out of the vent. However, instead of dropping to the floor, she pointed her grapple up to the ceiling and fired it. The bang got everyone's attention, along with the grapple claw hitting the ceiling and digging into it. Looking up, Huntress glared at the girl before glancing back to the Monster Man. It was now staring right at them, giving them a look that sent a shiver down the dark-haired woman's spine.

But then it hung its head much like it had been doing previously. That caused the vigilante to frown. She was certain the monster would try ripping itself from the wall to attack them at first sight. This passive behavior was strange.

Looking back up, Huntress then saw Bluebird hanging from the ceiling, a hand stretched towards the camera. Actually, make that two; somehow she had connected her grapple to her belt and it was suspending her from the roof, allowing her to use both of her hands.

Several minutes went by, Bluebird only pausing long enough to pull something from her belt and hook it to the camera. After awhile, she gave the all-clear. "Alright, we're the invisible women," she announced, keeping her tone down, but loud enough for the rest of them to hear.

"How did you do it?" Spoiler asked as she looked out of the vent shaft.

"I just rerouted the feed and made a short video of it, maybe three minutes worth of tape and put it on loop," the other girl answered. "It's not all that hard for me since I've worked as a technician before."

How handy. Huntress then snapped her fingers at the two, causing them to look down at her. She made a gesture for them to shut their traps and then another for them to take their posts. Returning her attention to the Monster Man, she then began to make her way towards it, a hand on the handle of her crossbow. Manhunter was right at her side, one hand behind her back and gripping one of Huntress' spare bow staffs, in its retracted state naturally. No need to alert this creature as to what they were packing.

Eventually, they came to a stop in front of the brute and Huntress couldn't help but notice how much slack there was in the chains. She figured those chains would be tight.

However, as she began to study the Monster Man, there was a part of her that felt it seemed smaller. She was pretty damn certain it was a towering colossus when they first ran into it. Now though, there seemed to be a loss of muscle mass and it was taking on more human-ish features.

"Tell me if this is strange or not, but doesn't this thing look like someone to you?" Manhunter suddenly asked her, her voice a low whisper.

Glancing to its face, Huntress paused. Now that the brunette mentioned it, this did look like someone. It wasn't someone she knew personally, but she was acquainted at best. The dark hair, the Italian features—and she knew those features pretty well—she was certain this was an Italian mobster. Or at least once had been.

"Maybe he's one of the Italians?" Huntress suggested.

"I think so too," Manhunter agreed. "I think I've seen this guy before. He's...bigger...than the photo I've seen…"

Huntress zoned out at that point. An Italian that Manhunter saw a photo of? There weren't too many candidates that could be. The only people she could think of that would've shown the brunette photos of Italian mobsters would've been the Birds and it would've only been those of high rank—the Mob Boss and his lieutenants.

So Huntress began running through all of the top Italians should could think of, the ones that had lingered in Gotham. A few she immediately discarded due to the fact they were fat slobs and didn't have the physique to look this buff. Eyeing the Monster Man's face, she started to see a resemblance to one and the longer she stared, the more she thought she had her man.

Holy crap, this was Mario Falcone.

Again, she was acquainted with Little Mario thanks to her father's connection to the Maroni and Falcone crime families. They had met a couple times and her best impression of the guy was that of a stuck-up punk. Had he been born into any other family, he would've had his ass kicked on a daily basis. With Falcone's name attached, it ensured no one messed with him.

Well, at least until now.

Swallowing deeply, the purple-clad woman said, "I...I think this is Mario Falcone," which got Manhunter's attention immediately.

"Are you sure?" she demanded.

"Pretty damn sure. What happened to him?"

When Manhunter didn't immediately respond, Huntress figured that was a pretty damn good question. How had skinny, wimpy Mario Falcone become this massive hulk? And why did he seemingly lose his mind? It was like he took a massive steroid and went on a roid-rage rampage.

"Maybe we should ask him?" Manhunter suggested after awhile.

Huntress gave her counterpart a look. Oh yeah, like asking would get Mario to spill his guts. He was still twice their size and in restraints. Not to mention he looked completely zoned out now that she was closer and looking him in the eye. "Just for that, you can ask him," she shot back.

That earned her a glare from Manhunter, but the brunette took a step forward. "Mario Falcone?" she began.

A groggy grunt came from Mario's lips as his head leaned towards the woman. Well, at least it seemed they were on the right track with the Monster Man's identity. "Mario, I need you to tell us what happened to you. How did you become...like this?"

Mario gave her an empty stare, as if no one was home. But then he began to speak, or at least attempt to. Something garbled came out of his mouth and Huntress had no idea what it was. She thought she caught a word here and there, but nothing made sense. Looking to Manhunter, who returned the look, the brunette vigilante then attempted another question, "Who did this to you?"

Again with the garbled answer, but Huntress did catch something. "Gaaaahhhh bastaaaaaarhhh bald, cccchhhhheeeerrrr uhhhhh man, wiiiffffffff beard."

Bald, man, beard. That had to be a description and a limited one at that. So they were looking for a man who was bald, but had a beard. Add in the fact he was using Mario as a lab rat, which meant he had to be some sort of scientist or something.

Man, bald, beard, scientist. Huntress felt her eyes narrowing. She knew of a scientist that was bald and wore a beard. In fact, he was a pain in the ass for Gotham, giving it immeasurable amounts of grief.

The man in question was unaccounted for considering the breakout at Arkham. He also had a history of experimenting on people and this had to be his latest creation. Suddenly, Huntress understood the deep loathing Batman seem to have at the thought of the guy.

 _Strange._

* * *

With half their forces doing follow-up on the Monster Man from last night, the other, male-dominated half of the Network had the honor of keeping track of Bane's movements. While they had no idea where the big man was, settling for his underlings would have to do.

Like with Bane himself, you had to find these guys first. In a city as big as Gotham, that wasn't going to be easy. You would think it would be easy picking a bunch of Santa Prisca mercenaries out of a group of mainly white people, some minorities mixed in for flavor. Except this was America, melting pot of the world. You had all sorts of types, socioeconomic standings be damned.

So yeah, racial profiling wasn't working. Time to bring in some big guns.

So working in tandem with Oracle and her facial recognition software, the group of vigilantes' combed over one section of the city at a time. It was lucky that Oracle had gotten the mugshots from the mercenaries that had been captured before. It made things easier on her part. Not theirs, because they had to be in the city, looking down on people and everything.

Of course, they couldn't be too far apart; they couldn't waste precious time scrambling over buildings to get to a sighting. Who knew if something would happen in that window?

So they were spread out with Katana and Green Arrow soloing it while Nightwing kept Red Hood attached to the hip. Neither of them were happy with it, but when it came to investigations, Hood was not a good choice for it. At least Bluebird and Spoiler could keep quiet enough to let the others do what they needed to do. Huntress and Manhunter had to know what they were doing, right?

"Christ, this is boring," Red Hood grumbled.

"Did you think this was going to be a non-stop action flick?" Nightwing retorted.

"I can barely see anything up here!" the younger vigilante complained. "And I'm only getting the top of people's heads!"

"If you have a better way, I'm all ears," he quipped back. "We don't have to like it, but it needs to be done."

"Freakin' ridiculous," Red Hood muttered, but fell silent anyway. There was a part of Nightwing that agreed with him, but again no one had come up with a better way other than to get Oracle helping out. That was on top of her doing everything else she was doing so it wasn't high priority for her.

"Anything?" he asked into his earpiece.

" _Not yet_ ," Green Arrow reported. " _Still keeping my eyes peeled._ "

" _Nothing_ ," followed up Katana. She didn't add anything else so she must be done speaking. Then again, he rarely recalled her being the talkative type. Last he saw her, before she took up her own perch, she had her hand fused to her sword. Guess last night really shook her up.

It didn't need to be said to "keep looking," and since they were all—most of them—professionals, he didn't. Of course, the minutes kept ticking by with no luck, but that seemed par for the course.

Then, without warning, Katana spoke up. " _I have two possibles. They are on a straight path on Beverly, about to reach the intersection with Moss._ "

There was a moment of silence; Oracle would already be on the case for an ID. As much as Nightwing wanted to keep his attention on the street below, he was distracted by the promise of a lead that would allow him to do more than what he was already doing.

" _Oh yeah, right on the money. You guys know what you need to do._ "

"Beverly and Moss," Nightwing said to his younger teammate, already firing a zipline to the other end of the street. While trusting Katana to keep an eye on their targets and to not let them slip away, it was best to catch up as fast as they could.

"Great, more running," Red Hood sighed, but he had already pulled out the appropriate grip from his belt and was attaching it to the line. Across the street the masked teen went, Nightwing following a second later. Reaching the other side, a couple of button presses later had the zipline disabled and the cable being gobbled up by the device.

Of course, every second's delay had him all that more antsy. What if something happened? What if, against all logic, Katana lost them? More eyes, they needed more eyes, to make sure that this latest lead was not lost to them.

To his annoyance, Red Hood had waited for him instead of being on the move, but he pushed that aside, instead taking the lead with a dash. Beverly was this way, right? If he held any doubts, they were dashed when he spotted another figure heading in the same direction. The outline of a bow gave it away. Green Arrow was with them, good, good.

What felt like too long, but was probably less than a minute, the group of three became four when they met up with Katana, sword still sheathed, but watching the street like a hawk. Without even looking up, the Asian woman said, "The pair at the crosswalk. One has a hood over his head. The other is in a coat."

It took a second, but he spotted the pair. If you didn't look too hard, the two men would blend in with the crowd easily. However, when they began moving, it was obvious that they weren't locals. They walked fast, with purpose, a classic military swagger. Sure, there were others like that, but this was more pronounced. Like they were on a mission right now.

"So how are we going to do this?" Red Hood asked, his voice hushed, almost breathless. "When are we going to take them?"

"We're not going to do anything to them. Not yet," Nightwing said, getting a "hmm" of agreement from Green Arrow.

"What? Why not!" Red Hood exclaimed, voice louder.

"Keep it down and in our pants," Green Arrow chided.

"What he said," Nightwing agreed.

"But they're right there! We can take them!" Red Hood pressed, gesturing to the moving pair with an arm.

Katana was already on the move, keeping them in sight. Green Arrow was following after her while Nightwing went slower, mainly because he needed to talk the younger male down.

"Why are they out here? Could it be they're going somewhere?" Nightwing asked rhetorically. Before Red Hood could give him an answer, "These guys aren't going to be out in public for no reason. They're going somewhere. Why not find out where?"

"Why not drag them off the street and make them tell us?" Red Hood retorted.

"And maybe get the wrong information? Nah, it's best to catch them with their pants down." The earlier reference to pants was not on his mind when he said that. "Plus, we'll have a better idea of what they're up to. Bane has them out for a reason and we need to find out what."

"And we could do that if we grab them now!" the masked teen continued to argue.

"Are you Batman?" he asked unexpectedly.

"What? Why the fuck are you asking me that?" Red Hood demanded.

"I've seen Batman work," the older vigilante continued. "When he does his thing, people are scared of him. They'll tell him whatever he wants to know. But none of us are him and Bane's guys aren't afraid of us. Let's say we grab them, the most we'll probably get is a 'go to hell,' or a 'we're loyal to Bane,' or 'do your worst.' They're going to spit at us, mock us, and we're going to get nothing for it. So we're going to do what we need to do so that we can end this. It's gonna be long, it's going to be boring until we're fighting for our lives, and you may not like how we do this, but damn it, it's the only thing we have going for us.

"If we could have beaten this whole thing with our fists, we would have and it would be all over. But we did try that, you were there for it, and guess what, Bane can take a punch. So we gotta hurt him in another way. This is about being smart, not who's the toughest guy on the block. We're all in the big leagues, now that Batman's gone, and somebody has to fill his shoes if we're to do this. Since Gotham only has us, we'll have to do."

"Crock of shit," Red Hood muttered, and for a second, Nightwing felt really, really angry. Did this guy hear nothing he said? However, before he could say anything, the younger male spat out, "We'll do it your way—for freaking now."

And now wasn't about to end any time soon.

"Might want to keep your opinions to yourself right now," Nightwing instead advised. "I don't think the others are going to stand for that shit for long."

Setting out at a jog, he caught up with the other vigilantes, keeping watch on their quarry. If Red Hood thought this was all boring, well, it wasn't. Because if those two down there turned a corner anywhere, that would mean some serious running to make sure they didn't stay out of sight. Good thing one of them was always going ahead to make sure that someone always had a sight on them.

Eventually, Bane's men took a left, which had the vigilantes rushing to keep up. Where were those guys going? If they were going to keep this up, they were going to head right to the port.

Lo and behold, that's where they were going. Passing through a gate, the two men were heading to a warehouse. Close to it was a very large, very lifeless ship. On the side were the fading words ESPINA DE ROSA. Really needed a paint job. It was to the storehouse that the men entered and the vigilantes were there to slip in behind them.

"Doesn't look like there's any other way in," Green Arrow remarked.

"Hopefully the door doesn't squeak too loud," Nightwing said back. Lucky for them, Bane's men hadn't closed the door behind them, but the gap was way too small to squeeze through. They were going to need to be careful.

"Hold on a sec," Green Arrow said as he pressed himself against the building, peeking his head into the storehouse. Quickly notching an arrow, he held still for a moment before suddenly standing right in front of the gap and firing into the building. A second later, there were cries of surprise.

"Should keep them busy for a bit, let's get in there," the green-clad vigilante said. Figuring that it was a trick arrow that was fired, Nightwing was already grabbing the door and pulling, arms straining. Arrow was already helping to push and soon enough that had room to enter. Katana darted in, practically a blur of red and yellow.

Pulling out his escrima, Nightwing followed after, taking cover immediately so as not to make himself a target. Already, he had glimpsed a mass of rope—a net, he figured—so that's where these guys were. As for cover, well, that wasn't as easy, because there were stacks upon stacks of weapon crates. If you wanted to hide, you needed to stand on them. Well, he guessed taking cover was a bit of a bust.

One of the men had a knife on him, and by now had cut through the netting. With a heave, the other man tore himself from the damaged trap, a gun in hand and pointing in the direction of the three male vigilantes.

And Katana was slicing it in half an instant later, barely stopping as she spun and kicked the guy's feet out from under him. The man with the knife looked surprised, which left him open for Nightwing to club him from behind, a little electricity adding an extra motivator to fall unconscious. Meanwhile, Katana finished off the disarmed man by slamming the butt of her sword pommel into his face.

All in all, it too less than fifteen seconds to do.

"It's over already!" Red Hood cried out, voice full of disbelief.

"What did you expect? Big showdown with the help?" Green Arrow snarked.

"But don't we need them to talk?" the younger vigilante demanded, his gaze redirecting multiple times to give each of them an accusing look.

"Take a look around. These aren't some basic wooden crates. These are specially made to hold guns and all sorts of other goodies. This is a weapons dump," Green Arrow answered, gesturing around to all the faded green boxes. "Looks like Bane came prepared for war. Who knows how much is here."

"Which is why it's going to hurt him," Nightwing stated, trying to keep his awe at the amount of firepower that was in here. "Who knows if there are other places with more of this stuff in the city."

"And it'll be one less once a tip goes to the cops," Green Arrow added, lips curling into a smirk behind his curly goatee.

Yeah, it would, wouldn't it?

"Oracle, you hear all that?" he asked loudly, not bothering to put his hand up to his ear.

" _Already calling it in._ " Fast worker, that girl.

"We need to stay until it is secure," Katana stared, eyes boring into the downed goons. "Others may show up."

"Then they'll join their friends here," Green Arrow stated. Looking over to Red Hood, he added, "Now's the part where we stand guard. If you thought things were boring before…"

Nightwing barely stopped himself from raising an eyebrow at Red Hood's scowl.

* * *

To Guest: I thought it was a nice scene too


	17. How To Get To Santa Prisca With Teens

The sun was out and the sky was a cloudless, beautiful blue. A cool breeze was blowing in, though it took nothing away from how warm the day was. The sea stretched out in all directions, ending at the horizon.

With a confident spring in her step, Dinah couldn't help the smile that was on her face. Her sundress danced about her legs as she moved, ruffling somewhat with the breeze. Her wide-brimmed sun hat was perched perfectly on top of her head. The marina was filled with boats around her, the sound of water splashing up against the dock filling her ears.

To the untrained eye, she was a beautiful woman visiting for a stay on the beach and maybe a jaunt onto the open water. To be honest, that felt like a great idea to her considering all that was happening back home. A day or two of R&R in the Florida Keys was not the worst idea she ever had.

However, she was working, so maybe if there was some time left after the job, she could take some time to work on her tan. Right now she and her partner were meeting up with their friends at the marina, the preassigned rendezvous point.

Of course, the picture of her vacationing was slightly ruined by the moody teenager trailing behind her. Red Robin—or Tim as she knew him since there was little point in disguising themselves on the plane; if you couldn't trust a fellow vigilante, then who would you trust?—was playing the part of a sullen kid. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his red shorts, the T-shirt he wore proudly proclaimed he was an avid watcher of Yo Gabba Gabba.

Dinah figured he was more annoyed with the shirt than anything else.

It wasn't her fault that was the only shirt they could find on short notice—read: on the plane. Dinah had made a mental note to ask Ollie where he had gotten it the next time she saw him. There had to be an embarrassing story behind it.

Back to the matter at hand, though. As much as she was enjoying herself, Tim's grumpiness was starting to put a damper on her own mood. Turning her head so that she could look at him from behind her sunglasses, she asked, "Isn't this great? Sun, the ocean, and all the alcohol you can buy without a valid ID?"

"Yeah, sure," Tim grumbled.

Dinah raised an eyebrow. "You gonna be a wet towel while we're here?"

"I don't see why I have to wear this stupid shirt. There were other ones I could've worn."

"And none of them fit you. Sorry, kid, but Arrow is bigger than you. Unless you wanted to wear a tent and make people look at you oddly, this was the best that we have."

"I would've preferred the tent."

The blonde woman came to a stop and turned to face the teen. With a hand on her hip she questioned point blank, "And what is so bad about Yo Gabba Gabba?"

Okay, admittedly it was a show for toddlers and that definitely clashed with the edginess today's youth wanted to convey. However, she didn't think Tim was that self-absorbed. He seemed like a kid that had his head on straight for the most part. This image-consciousness was strange.

"Nothing, I guess. It's just that if it were just you and me, I wouldn't care."

"Uh huh," she pressed, moving both of her arms to cross over her chest, an expectant expression on her face. He was going to tell her what was wrong whether he liked it or not.

"It's just…" he trailed off.

"Oh look! It's Friend Robin!" a voice suddenly exclaimed.

The grumpy look on Tim's face soured further. "Them," he grunted.

Turning to look where Tim was and also finding the source of the voice that recognized him, Dinah found a group of people ambling towards them. The first thing she focused on was this tall redhead who was damn good-looking. Dinah had no qualms with giving credit where it was due and that orange-skinned woman was a knockout.

But then the rest of the group drew her attention, starting with the strangest of them all: a short kid with green skin. He was dressed much like Tim, and was just as moody-looking. His arms were crossed over his chest as he trudged in front of a much larger guy, who was decked out in a hoodie with the hood pulled over his head.

To either side of the boys were two girls, one of them a rather pretty blonde and the other a very pale dark-haired girl. While the blonde was dressed for the occasion in a tight shirt and shorts, the pale girl was wearing a large tent of a T-shirt. You could just make out the calves of her legs emerging from beneath the hem of the shirt.

And then they spoke.

It was the blonde who started things. "Hey, Red," she greeted, a smirk on her face. "Did you bring your mom with you on this little trip?"

That caused Dinah to raise an eyebrow. Mom? Did she look like someone's mom? Certainly not Tim's. Maybe an older sister, but never a mom.

The green-skinned boy perked up at the sight of her. "Oh man, I wish I had a mom that looked like her. Red, you dog!"

"She's not my mom, guys," Tim protested, his face becoming flushed from the attention.

That's when the redhead suddenly darted in front of him. "Friend Robin!" she exclaimed once more. "Your face has taken on a peculiar shade of redness. Is your white skin burning from the exposure from Earth's sun? We must rub on you the cream of sun protection before you burst into flames!"

Dinah slowly turned her head to give Tim a strange stare. _These_ were the people that were going to help them infiltrate a prison?

"That's enough, guys," the sullen teen tried to dismiss. "We have work to—"

"Oh my god!" the blonde girl suddenly cried out. "Is that Yo Gabba Gabba on your shirt? It is! I had no idea!" she laughed, her peals of laughter carrying throughout the marina.

"Hey, don't feel too bad," the hoodie-wearing teen tried to comfort the sour-looking Tim, even though there was an obvious trace of humor in his voice. "Green Bean here is also a fan."

A quick glance to the green-skinned skin told Dinah that the kid in question also was wearing a Yo Gabba Gabba shirt, though he was doing a better job at covering it with his arms. In response, Green Bean tightened his arms over his chest. "I still don't see why I had to wear this shirt," he complained. "Why couldn't one of you wear it?"

"Because it was the only one that would fit you," the taller male responded. "It certainly wasn't in my size."

Dinah suddenly felt Tim's eyes on her. It seemed he picked up on the same reasoning she had given him.

She mentally sighed. This conversation was going literally nowhere. She was going to have to bring it around to their original objective. "Alright, I think we've spent enough time embarrassing the boys. I think we should get acquainted with each other."

It seemed the looks she saw on Tim's friends' faces agreed with her statement, save for the blonde girl's. She had this expression that promised all sorts of teasing coming towards Tim.

"Oh! Is this the part where we give our names, or the names we give as codes?" the red-haired woman asked.

For once, the dark-haired girl spoke, using a bland tone. "We will be using aliases considering the chosen profession of Red Robin and his friend."

"Understood! I am called Starfire, Red Robin and Red Robin's mother!"

Dinah once again looked to Tim. "They don't give up, do they?"

"You have no idea."

It seemed the dark-haired girl shared their exasperation. "You can call me Rachel. The big guy is Cyborg, the little one is Green Bean, and the girl over there is—"

"Stop!' the blonde girl interrupted. "I can give my own fake name, thank you very much."

"Very well, what is your fake name?"

The girl froze for a moment, her blue eyes wide as she tried to think. "Umm, you can call me...uhh...Cassandra?"

"Or Wonder Girl," Green Bean piped up. "That's what we all call her."

"Shut it, Bean Sprout!"

It was Tim's turn to give Cassandra/Wonder Girl a look, one of his eyebrows raised. However, he didn't stay quiet for long. "Thanks for getting all of that out of the way," he said before he held a hand out to Dinah. "This is Black Canary, guys. She's one of the top vigilantes in Gotham, so please treat her with _some_ respect."

"Really? One of the top ones?" Green Bean questioned. "Does that mean she's met…" he trailed off before he spoke in an even quieter tone, " _Batman?"_

Dinah couldn't help but roll her eyes. Don't tell her, there were some Bat-fans in this group. Weren't these kids from the West Coast? How had they become fans from all the way over there?

It seemed the Cyborg guy was in on the fandom. "Seriously? Have you worked with the Bat too?"

"Ugh, boys," Cassandra/Wonder Girl groaned.

Dinah straightened out her posture. Long gone was her casual vacation girl and in its place was the Leader of the Birds of Prey. "Now is not the time or place to talk about these things," she said in a commanding tone, one that caught Tim's friends off guard, causing the boys to flinch and Wonder Girl to jump. Rachel seemed unaffected and Starfire was just looking at her with a large smile on her face. "Right now we're on an assignment and our first order of business is to obtain transport to Santa Prisca."

There was a silent moment before the level-headed Rachel spoke, "Seeing as we are looking for an island, we should use a boat. That way we have a base of operations and not have to worry about the concerns of a plane."

"Umm, and where are we going to get a boat?" Cyborg questioned.

Rachel gave the tall man a look. "We are in a marina. There's plenty to choose from here."

"Hey, we're not stealing a boat," Tim protested.

"Then how else do you propose we get one? I highly doubt someone will sell one to us, or even let us rent one."

Dinah had to admit, this Rachel girl had a point. So they were just going to have to temporarily borrow one.

"Oooh, oooh!" Green Bean began to chant as he pointed to something. "How about that one? That one looks like a good one!"

Turning her head, the blonde woman found...a yacht. A really big yacht, actually. One with the logo of Wayne Enterprises painted onto its hull.

Well, if they were ever to take something from someone, at least they knew that someone could afford it.

* * *

"Things are great, mom. A couple guys are annoying me, but so far I'v been having the time of my life," Tim spoke into the phone, staring out into the ocean. Or was it a sea? He never could remember where a sea ended and an ocean began. "Of course I'm careful. Yes. Yes. We're going to be heading to Metropolis soon. Maybe we'll get to see Superman."

It should be obvious by now what he was doing. A guy like him, still living with his parents, needed to have a cover story. It had to be one that they would buy into, and of course had absolutely nothing to do with Gotham, which is where he really was. More of the lying, separating both his day and night lives, was sometimes a pain, but it had to be done.

It had been really clever to say it was a school-sponsored trip, one that would take him to the east coast to see all the sights, as well as get kids interested in what they wanted to do after graduation. So all the business centers were covered, depending on safety, because every summer program had to promise it.

And if you were wondering if such a thing existed, well, it maybe, probably did, but the one his parents knew about was totally fabricated. It paid to have a guy like Victor around. Thanks to the digital age, it was so easy to create something so fraudulent.

"Don't worry, I don't think there's going to be a giant robot or monster or end of the world thing happening while we're there. Worse place we're going to is Lexcorp and that place is one of the safest places in the city so long as you don't wander away from the tour. Come on, Mom, maybe I could get some superpowers from some kind of accident. Alright, alright, I won't do that.

"Okay, I gotta go. I'll talk with you later, alright? Don't worry, I'll post something. Okay. Okay. Alright, bye."

There. Cover story still in one piece.

Now to get back to the others.

It had been a couple of days since they had left the Keys, heading on a straight course to Santa Prisca. Yeah, the mission was a serious one, but dang, they had scored with the yacht. It was very comfy, had more than enough space for seven people, an autopilot, and a swimming pool of all things.

That last one seemed a bit redundant since the boat had to be on a body of water and all. Rich people made no sense sometimes. It was a shame they were going to have to give it back at some point. Even though Bruce Wayne seemed like a nice guy when he wasn't scoring with supermodels, Tim didn't think the guy would like it if one of his boats went missing because a bunch of teens—with adult supervision—jacked it on a not-so-pleasure cruise to one of the armpits of the world.

So yeah, not looking forward to it.

Still, it was hard to tell they were even on the water. The boat barely shook as its engine purred and pushed them through the relatively calm waters. Up above, the sun shined down mercilessly, not a cloud in the sky to provide any relief. And let's not forget about how hot it was. The salt water around him was looking very appealing if it meant a quick way to cool off.

But he needed to check on the others, especially to make sure that they hadn't driven Dinah crazy yet. From the few experiences he had with her, he knew the older woman—why did he feel a chill suddenly go up his back?—was a team player, willing to roll with whatever came her way. That said, he had no idea how she would manage handling a group of teens with no way to escape them.

Making his way to the front of the yacht where the redundant swimming pool was located, he found that this seemed to be the place where everyone was hanging around. On the bow was none other than Kori, who looked like she was enjoying herself. She had commented earlier how she enjoyed the heat, saying it reminded her of home.

Then she had remarked that this was a temperature that was close to freezing on Tamaran. If he had any desire to actually go to that planet, they were effectively killed off.

Opposite of the deck, reclined in one of the deck chairs was Cassie, who seemed to be taking the opportunity to get some sunbathing in. He had no idea she had such skimpy swimwear on her and how revealing it was. It kinda made him hot under the collar of the goddamn shirt he was still wearing.

Rachel was keeping to the shadier part, curled up with a rather thick book. It was best not to ask what it was about. Nearby was Victor, still in his streetwear. He was crouched a respectable distance from the swimming pool, but he was doing something. Tim couldn't tell from this angle, but what was he…? Wait, was that a green dolphin in the pool? Yes, yes it was. So there was Garfield, taking advantage of the pool set up. The guy could probably swim alongside the yacht, so why not? It better not be something stupid like he didn't know how to swim because his current form begged to differ.

But wait, where was Dinah? Oh there, she was on the starboard side. That side was starboard, right? Tim didn't know his boat jargon real well. Instead of using one of the deckchairs, she was leaning against the railing, facing the ocean. From this angle, it looked like she was staring off into space, but her body language was saying something completely different.

"Yo! Restaurant Man! Come on in! The water's fine!" And that was Garfield, still in dolphin form, inviting him into the pool. A fin patted the water, as if trying to encourage him to take a dip.

"Think I'll pass," Tim said. He had a feeling that the water wasn't fine. The green kid probably was trying to dunk someone underwater for "fun."

"Come on, don't be a spoiled sport," Victor cajoled. "I don't know if I'm water proof, but if I am, I'd be in there. 'Sides, look at him. No one else wants to swim with a dolphin."

"Because we've more important things to do," Cassie called out. Then she added, "I don't think Red does, though."

Choosing to ignore the dig, because if there was one thing Cassie loved doing more than anything, it seemed, it was taking digs at him. He had learned to grow a thicker skin thanks to them. "She's right, we do have more important things."

"Not that I'm complaining, but don't we have something to do back in your hometown?" Now the dark-haired teen was getting a look from a dolphin of all things.

But he knew what the green shape-shifter was hinting at. "The guy left town when shit hit the fan. If he's smart, he won't show up until things calm down. I got a friend doing their best to track him down, but in the meantime, this is something that can't wait."

"Yeah, you haven't really been giving us much to work with," Victor stated. "All we know is that you need help and that we're heading to some place in the Caribbean that none of us have ever heard of. What's the deal?"

"Cyborg raises a good point," Raven commented, never taking her eyes off of her book.

Tim thought about it for a moment. "You want the long version, or the short version?"

"Neither, I prefer to watch the movie instead." Another barb from Cassie, thanks.

"There's a movie?!" Garfield gasped, reverting instantly to his humanoid form, pointed ears and all.

"That wasn't literal," Victor explained.

"But why did she talk about a movie?" Garfield asked.

"She wants a shorter version of the short version."

"Ah."

"Fine, we're going to infiltrate a prison that the guy who beat up Batman came from to try and get some dirt on him so that the other vigilantes in Gotham can use it to take him down," Tim said as concisely as possible. "Yes, it will be dangerous. Yes, we are trying to keep a low profile. And yes Cassie—andra, I will owe you another one so don't get smug."

"Dude, you mean we're taking on Bane?" Garfield squeaked. That squeak was not out of fear, but more out of excitement.

"No, we're not. Just getting dirt on him," Tim repeated.

"You sure? Because I think we can take him," the green teen said.

"So did everyone else, even Batman. It didn't end well for him, so everyone is playing it safe. And how do you even know that his name is Bane?" Yes, Tim had noticed how Garfield flat out stated Bane's name without needing to ask what it was.

"How else? Internet," he shrugged his shoulders. "It's all over the place too. You can't not know what he did."

"He's right. I can't get on without some clip of that guy throwing Batman into the streets," Victor confirmed.

"Yeah, the rest of us with ears know. You won't stop talking about it either," Cassie grumbled, attracting Tim's attention.

"There a story behind that?"

"Yeah, Tin Man and his idiot of a dolphin are Batman fanboys. You do the math," the blonde teen retorted.

"Hey, Batman's cool!" Garfield retorted, as if that was all that needed to be said. "Hey, if we help out, think we can get his autograph?"

"I don't think he does autographs," Tim said with uncertainty. Plus, getting one was not going to happen, what with him also being MIA.

"You sure? But people get autographs from the Flash all the time! Superman too! I think there's a Green Lantern one too, but think, if we get Batman's, that'd be more valuable than...than...hey, Cyborg? What's the most valuable thing out there?" The shape-shifter was turning to his metal bro.

"I think it's that new stuff, Supermanium. Either that, or Nth Metal," Victor shrugged his titanium shoulders.

"Both of those stuff!" And now Garfield was turning back to him. "It'd be more valuable than those things. Not that anyone would sell it because that's Batman's autograph and you don't sell Batman's autograph because it's _Batman's freaking autograph_!"

"Would you mind keeping it down already?" Whoa, that was Dinah, and she looked like she had had enough of the banter. "Don't make me raise my voice."

"We can talk about this later," Tim agreed hastily. "First thing's first, we gotta get to this prison then get down to business. After we're all safe and, you know, not dead, we can...talk about it."

"If you still have eardrums to hear," Dinah muttered.

A shame no one else seemed intimidated by that.

* * *

A couple days later, it seemed like Dinah was about to make good on her threat. It was a good thing then that they saw land.

That meant it was time to put the work clothes on. No more fun in the sun. Time to put on a serious face. It would be inside the yacht itself that their battle plan would be drawn up. Hopefully it wouldn't be like the last time.

"This is our target, Peña Duro prison," Black Canary announced to the group in her black leather and fishnet getup. Both Cyborg and Garfield had stared at her until threatened with bodily harm by Wonder Girl. "Based on what we know, this place is old, like back when it was still being colonized old. So there's not going to be a lot of electronics to be hacked here. Our primary goal is to get in and do reconnaissance. We need to find where they keep the files on the prisoners inside.

"According to the blueprints, the most likely place for the files will be here in their archives, close to where the prison chapel is." She circled a finger around the general area on the printout. "Because this is a prison, they will have security. That means we have to keep our eyes peeled and do nothing to alert anyone that we're there."

There were nods around, and Red Robin was glad that this was being taken seriously. Being stuck on this boat for so long had given them all some cabin fever and everyone was brimming with unused energy. The chance to use it was too tempting to do something stupid and mess it up. The masked teen took the chance to take in the sight of his teammates.

Wonder Girl was in that tight, red leotard with golden gauntlets, boots, and shoulder guards. Next to her was Raven whose body was covered with her dark blue, almost purple cloak. Beneath that was the black leotard and an odd-looking belt that seemed to consist of a series of semi-spherical jewels of a dark red color.

Victor stood post near the door, nothing but silver-colored metal and devoid of all his street clothes. The red lens of his left eye gleamed in the artificial light, not at all obscured by natural sunlight.

Between himself and those three, their "costumes" if your could call them that had changed little. Starfire and, as he insisted on being called, Beast Boy had done a bit of a number to their crime fighting wardrobe—and somehow on a limited budget.

Starfire had rid herself of the slave outfit her Gordanian slavers had forced on her and currently she wore a tight outfit of purples and silvers. Her upper torso was a sleeveless purple leotard with a silver-colored collar, her lower arms covered in silver clothe-based bracers and bracelets on both of her biceps. Her legs were clad in thigh-high purple boots allowing a little orange skin to peek out around her upper legs.

As for Beast Boy—though Black Canary kept calling him Green Bean—his was a tight-fitting white and red assemble. A jumpsuit would be one way to put it. Like Starfire's, it was sleeveless, his lower arms covered in fingerless, elbow length gloves, also tight-fitting. For some reason, he liked to unzip the collar around his neck and let it flop about.

"Before we make landfall, we're going to need to know if it is safe to," Black Canary continued with the briefing. "One of us has to scout ahead and make sure there's no patrols. I know the place is located on a cliff, but there is a place nearby and low to the water that we can get to. That might be watched and we need to know."

"Ooh, ooh! Pick me! I can do it!" Beast Boy volunteered, raising an arm up and practically wavering it.

"No," Black Canary shot him down, not even sparing the green teen a look.

"Aww, why not?"

"Because whoever goes needs to be able to shut their mouths for longer than five seconds. You can't so it's not you."

"You have any thoughts?" Red Robin spoke up quickly, hoping to prevent any more back and forth complaining that would pretty much do nothing more than waste time.

"Is there anybody here who can get to that beach unseen, be able to look for anyone who might be patrolling, and do so without being caught?" Black Canary was making eye contact with him as she spoke.

"Other than the one you already ruled out, I can think of four people. Starfire, Rav—Rachel, and Wonder Girl can all fly. I could go myself, if you want," he offered.

"I rather you stay here. As for the other three, anyone want to volunteer?" Now the black-clad vigilante was turning her sights on the three females mentioned.

"I would volunteer my services," Starfire spoke up, the first to do so, "I have experience keeping myself hidden from others; however, I worry that I would unnecessarily expose our undertaking should there be any of these patrols you speak of. If you decide I be the one to go, I shall."

At least she was honest. Red Robin couldn't fault her for that. However, he had a better candidate—

"Sorry, but if I run into anyone there, there will be noise," Wonder Girl dashed his hopes immediately. Giving him a pointed look, she added, "Just ask Red over here."

"Then I shall do it."

It took Red Robin a second to process that, but when he did, he was turning to Raven who didn't look like she had just volunteered herself for a potentially dangerous mission.

"You sure about this?" Cyborg asked.

"Like Starfire, I too have my own talents for keeping hidden. Unlike Wonder Girl, I can keep myself undiscovered should I be spotted. And lastly, I do know how to keep my mouth shut for longer than five seconds. I do believe I am overqualified for this," Raven listed out.

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Black Canary pressed.

"Your concern is not necessary, but is appreciated. I can go at any time, but I believe it would be best if we can plan on what we do once we do make landfall. Where do we go next?" Raven assured while also moving forward the planning.

Black Canary stared at the cloaked teen for a moment before turning back to the print out. "There's a path that leads straight up to the prison. It goes through something called the Cavidad Oscuro and that will take us to our way in. Before anyone asks, no, I don't know what that means, but I'm betting there's a good reason why that part of the prison has its own name."

"Take this," Cyborg offered to Raven, holding out a small earpiece, one the size of an earbud. "Let us know when it's all clear."

Raven nodded as she took the small device. Expected by the teens, but not their older leader—there was that shiver again—their resident magic user was swallowed up by an orb of blackness that sank back into the couch she sat on.

In less than a second, there was no sign of her or her magic.

"What the hell was that?" Black Canary half wondered, half demanded.

"Short version, teleportation," Cyborg shrugged. "It's really cold, feels weird, but you get used to it."

"Speak for yourself," Beast Boy grumbled, doing his best to hide a pout, but not a shiver, as he looked away.

* * *

Smart enough not to simply appear in the middle of a beach, Raven made her return to this realm behind a grouping of crags, or a bunch of pointy rocks that stabbed out from the ocean. With the blandest look to have ever graced a teenager's face, the cloak-wearing girl peeked around her hiding spot and spied on the beach.

It was very dreary-looking, completely unkempt with vegetation, and no signs of life whatsoever. For most, that would be enough to call in, but she was more of a thorough type.

Pulling back behind the rocks, and continuing to _levitate_ over the water below her, she closed her eyes and began to concentrate. First, she needed to get rid of the memory of Red Robin claiming she could fly, which is not what she did. As mentioned, she _levitated_. A big difference right there.

With ease, she squashed it down, along with anything else that might distract her, then began to extend her awareness out from her immediate vicinity to cover the beach area. Her powers were emotion based, which meant she was searching for any hint of emotions around her. Like sonar, she would get a ping if she found even the slightest bit of affect, whether it was happiness, anger, or even disgruntlement.

Her brow furrowed as she picked up on something that was further away. Immediately, she knew she didn't like its feel, and she was willing to bet that before the day was out, she would be getting up close and personal with it.

 _Focus on anything closer._ Hmm. So far nothing. It was easy to ignore anything coming from the wildness based primarily on the simplicity of their minds. She was unable to detect the sign of any complex minds, meaning that for the time being no one was nearby.

Now for the next step. Keeping her eyes closed, she began to summon her magic, bending it to her will before casting it to wash over the beach. This was not a major spell that required an immense amount of magic—far from it. No, it was just something that would subtly influence anyone who happened to wander by to turn and leave, enhancing any convenient emotion that would lead to such an action. Fear, boredom, irritation, arrogance, anything that would prevent a person from being thorough to investigate this small stretch of sand would be exacerbated.

There. It was done. She gave it a moment to allow the magic to settle in before she reached to the earbud that Cyborg had given her.

"The area is secured. You may begin infiltration."

Ignoring any replies, Raven returned to scanning the area just in case. It would take some time for her teammates to arrive, even with the gifts of flight available to them.

Maybe it was a chill breeze, but she found herself looking up the cliff and towards Peña Duro itself, the prison complex ominous as it maintained its vigil. Already, the feelings of anger, of fear, pain, suffering, and something else radiated from the place. That was definitely the center of that far away sensation she had detected earlier. Already, she had a nasty feeling about that place.

To better prepare herself for what was to come, she shut her eyes and cleared her mind as soon as she could. Minutes later, she picked up a number of minds. They were moving closer to her location, and based on the direction from which they approached, it could only be the others. Nonetheless, she took a minute to complete her brief meditations before opening her eyes and searching for her comrades.

There they were. Keeping close to the waves, she could see Starfire carrying Cyborg and not looking the least bit like she was straining. Wonder Girl was transporting Black Canary, and Red Robin was using that unique cape of his to glide. Still, based on the distance between the island and their, ahem, borrowed boat, he shouldn't still be in the air. He was probably tethered to one of the others, most likely Wonder Girl since the blonde also had a rope feature that came with her armor. All that was left was Beast Boy, but he must have shifted into a bird so no further thought was spared for him.

Soon enough, the team had made landfall, and Raven was coming out from her cover to join them. So far, the operation was a success. Now for the next part.

"I can see the trail over there," Black Canary said. "We'll need to follow it up to the prison."

"Hey, aren't prisons suppose to have walls?" Well, well, looks like Beast Boy knew how to ask some good questions. While Raven had eyed the prison itself, she too had noticed a lack of walls.

"The walls are on the other side. Where we are right now is a smaller island that happens to be owned by a bigger island, so it's kinda like Alcatraz but with people still in it," Red Robin explained.

"And it hasn't been altered in a long time," Cyborg added before narrowing his one human eye. "That's weird."

"What is?" Black Canary asked, snapping her around to look at the half-robotic teen.

"I'm not picking up anything," the bulky male answered.

"And that means?" the tall blonde woman pressed.

"Well, when we're like in a city, there's always some kind of traffic. Electronic traffic. That's from like traffic lights, phones, computers; if it's electronic, then I can pick it up. I'm not getting that from here. Like, there's barely anything."

"So we're probably not going to have to deal with any keypads. But since this is a prison, they are going to have locks," Black Canary summed up. "Guess we're going to have to pick some if we're going to get anywhere in this place."

Suddenly, as one, the group of teens looked over at Wonder Girl.

"What?" the armored teen asked.

* * *

To Guest: I don't recall Batman doing that. Which story line was it?

To MRFlackAttack: You're pretty sure he's coming back


	18. The Research Of Dr Porter

The lock was ancient, having been made a couple centuries in the past. Rust covered it and the metal door it was attached to, giving it the impression it was just as old as it was suspected. The air within the chamber was stale and hot due to the lack of air flow.

Suddenly, the locking mechanism began to turn, begrudgingly at first, creaking with every struggling inch it was forced to make until there was a loud click.

The door then swung open, the hinges creaking until Black Canary and company stood in the open threshold. Kneeling before the lock was Wonder Girl, who was blinking her eyes at the sight, an absurdly large lock pick in hand. It had been summoned through the mystical energies by the Rachel girl and the blonde had reluctantly used it. There was some undercurrent going on here that Black Canary was clearly missing. If she didn't know any better, she would've said Wonder Girl had experience as a burglar.

"Oh my god!" Green Bean exclaimed. "What's that smell?!"

Cyborg immediately slapped the green kid against the back of his head.

"Ow! Why'd you do that?!"

"Shut it, Grass Stain. We're trying to be quiet here," the cybernetic teen responded just as loudly.

"Oh! That's right!"

Black Canary shot a threatening glare at the two, one they both caught as they went silent. Never had Canary wanted to strangle a couple of kids, but these two were getting on her nerves. There was no such thing as professionalism and any semblance of stealth was ignored due to their big mouths. Perhaps she was a little harsh on the Cyborg guy since she had the feeling he would follow orders, but Green Bean? No, forget it, he probably never had a quiet moment in his life.

Why had she thought coming to this island with them was a good idea?

"Inside, now," she growled lowly, causing Green Bean to gulp before darting inside. The others meekly followed him, save for Starfire, who still seemed oblivious to her surroundings, and Red Robin, who had shoved his face into his palm. It didn't need to be said that he was embarrassed about the entire thing.

Once inside and the door was firmly shut behind them, Black Canary stared them all down, waiting for their next outburst, one that thankfully never came. "Okay, this prison is a big place with a lot of unknowns. We all have to be careful from this point further. No unnecessary talking; no heroic sacrifices; only survival. We're in, we find what we need to know about Bane, and then we get out. If everything goes right, we'll be in and out before anyone knows we're here."

Green Bean raised his hand then. Already the blonde vigilante just knew she was going to regret letting him speak. "Umm, what do you mean by heroic sacrifices?"

Canary took in a deep breath. To give credit where it was due, that wasn't a bad question. "No sacrificing yourself for the team, no rushing into a hopeless situation that will get you killed—that sort of thing."

"That is a most welcomed idea," Starfire agreed. "It would sadden us all if one of us died horrifically here."

"So our plan is to search this entire place as one big group?" Wonder Girl asked, her arms crossed over her chest. "Won't that be conspicuous?"

"Are you saying we should split up?" Black Canary questioned, a frown appearing on her face. Already, she felt like that was a bad idea. If the trip here was any indication, none of these kids should be separated.

"We could cover more ground that way," Rachel agreed. "I would think two smaller groups would suffice."

Wonder Girl was studying the older blonde as her friend spoke. As if to back her up, she added, "This isn't our first rodeo doing this. We can handle this."

Black Canary shot a look to Red Robin, who only gave her a nod. Everything in her screamed this was a bad idea, but there was a point in moving around in two groups. That would cover them in the event there was a fight instead of being overwhelmed on their own. These were also not ordinary kids.

"Alright…" she slowly acquiescented.

"Alright!" Green Bean shouted, pumping a fist into the air. "I know me and Cyborg will—"

 _Oh hell no._ There was no way Canary was going to chance being stuck with either of those two together. That was just asking for trouble. No, they were going to separate those two.

"Cyborg will be with me," the blonde vigilante stated, interrupting the green kid's planning. Pointing a finger at him, she then moved it over to Red Robin. "You'll be with Red Robin."

"Huh? But why?" he asked confused.

"Because you can't help but talk with Cyborg. If we're going to maintain stealth, you two _will_ be separated. I won't have this operation fall apart because you two can't stop being immature."

As blunt as she was, Canary had the feeling that maybe she had been too blunt, especially with the beaten puppy look that appeared on Green Bean's face. Starfire, thankfully came to the rescue as she placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "It will be okay, Gar," she told him optimistically. "I will go along with you and Red Robin. I hope my presence will be an adequate substitute."

Canary could practically see the adoration in Green Bean's eyes as he looked up to the redhead. "Oh, yeah, you'll be more than adequate."

Wonder Girl rolled her eyes. "Okay, I call dibs on Black Canary and Cyborg." She then directed a look to Rachel. "You can be with those two and Red."

"Thanks," Rachel replied, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

Deciding to ignore the exchange, Canary stepped right up to Red Robin. "You're in charge," she told him quietly. "Do whatever you have to to keep everyone alive, got it?"

Red Robin gave her a sharp nod. "Understood."

Giving his shoulder a comforting squeeze, she then dropped her hand to her side. "Alright, let's move out."

* * *

Due to the prison being of a different time period and not seeing modern upgrades, it was rather easy to sneak through the hallways. Black Canary was used to having to avoid security cameras, laser beams, and advanced security systems. Here though, there was a noticeable lack of security cameras. Needing Cyborg to disable them was unnecessary.

Reaching a corner, the blonde vigilante peeked around it, seeing no sign of guard patrols. They had already spotted a couple, but far less than what she had expected with such rudimentary security protocols. Thankfully they hadn't had to engage the patrols, so their presence had gone unnoticed.

Now, Black Canary was used to having to remember building blueprints for jobs like these. You couldn't risk using a physical one lest it put you in a vulnerable position, not to mention the time it took to pull it out, open it up, search for your location and where you wanted to go, then reverse all of that when putting it away.

That's where Cyborg came in handy. He had scanned the blueprint onboard their yacht and was keeping an electronic copy available in his mechanical eye. All she had to do was look to him and he would point them in the direction they wanted to go.

Speaking of which, Canary looked to the cyborg and he immediately pointed to the right. "Right, then the first left," he whispered to her.

Responding with a sharp nod, she then moved around the corner, followed by Wonder Girl and Cyborg. She quickly made her way to the next intersecting hallway, peered around the corner and again saw it was empty. Taking the left, she headed all the way to the end, where it ended with a sharp left. Stopping at the corner, she again looked to Cyborg.

The teen was quiet for a moment before he held a hand up, sticking up three fingers. "Third door, on right."

That must be the archive. Again looking around the corner and seeing no one, she then darted around the corner and headed down the corridor. One door passed, then a second. Finally, she found the third one and stood to a side, looking right at Wonder Girl. The blonde girl had stopped on the other side, Cyborg behind her, and stared right back.

Reaching a hand up, Canary grabbed hold of the doorknob and tired it, finding it to be locked. Again, she looked at Wonder Girl, who was still looking blankly at her.

"It's locked," she prompted the younger girl.

"So?" she whispered back.

"Think you can open it?"

The girl's eyes narrowed as she scowled. "What are you trying to get at?"

What was with the attitude? This was not the time for it. "You picked the lock that got us into this place. This one should be a cinch."

It took a moment, but then Wonder Girl got what she was talking about. "I don't have a pick set," she murmured.

Immediately, Canary had a hand in her belt and pulled out a set. "Here."

Wonder Girl stared at her. Then, "If you have them, why don't you open it?"

"Because I can knock people out without making any noise; that's something you admitted you couldn't do. Now open the damn lock while I play lookout."

The girl was scowling again, but she snatched the lock pick set from her, kneeling down in front of the door as she got to work. There was a lot of indistinguishable muttering all the while.

After a few moments, Wonder Girl unlocked the door and pulled it open, Black Canary shooting inside to scout the area and finding it empty of people. Perfect. As the name "archive" indicated, the room was filled with filing cabinets, which lined the walls of the room. There was a large folding table in the center of the room, where a few bulky folders were situated.

That was when Wonder Girl and Cyborg slipped into the room and closed the door behind them. "Now what, glorious leader?" the blonde girl snarked.

Canary shot the girl a warning look, one she was clearly ignoring. Damn self-absorbed teenagers. "I don't know what your problem is, nor do I care. We're doing something incredibly dangerous right now and your attitude is not helping. Now either make yourself useful and start looking through the file cabinets, or sit your ass in the corner and let the adults do their job."

Wonder Girl's mouth dropped open as her brow furrowed, an expression of being insulted. Thankfully, Cyborg placed a hand on her shoulder to get her attention. "Let it go, Cass. This isn't the time to get into a fight."

Immediately, the girl shrugged the hand off and marched away, stopping in front of a file cabinet and roughly opening it. Keeping an eye on her, Canary then slowly moved to the table and opened one of the folders, finding a lot of hand notes on the top page.

Now this was going to be a pain. Peña Duro kept paper charts on all of its prisoners, so digging around in here was going to take a lot of time. Most of this was going to be unnecessary since they were only here for intel on Bane and his associates. That wasn't even a percent of a percent in this place.

Shifting through some of the papers, Canary came to the conclusion that the file she was reading was not what they were after. Pushing it aside, she went to the next one, doing the same. The third and last one was also a dead end.

Which left the other file cabinets. By then, Wonder Girl had shoved the drawer she was on shut and was opening another. Cyborg seemed to be going at a slower clip as he opened a drawer as far as it could go. Standing to a side of it, he purposefully dragged a finger through each and every file and subsequently each piece of paper contained within.

That seemed like a strange way to look through files.

Several minutes went by and by then each one was on a different file cabinet. Nothing had been found as of yet and even from where she stood, Black Canary could see Wonder Girl was getting more and more irritable.

Finally, when she couldn't take it anymore, the blonde girl shoved the drawer she was on closed rougher than was necessary. "There has to be a faster way to do this!" she exclaimed. "We can't just read each and every one of these folders until we find what we want!"

Before Canary could reprimand her, Cyborg responded. "If you want, you can guard the door," he told her. "I'm just scanning everything and having my processor shift through everything. It'll take awhile before I get the entire room, but at least this way we don't have to manually search everything."

That wasn't a bad idea at all actually. Immediately, Black Canary walked over to the teen and opened up a drawer next to him. "Think you can do two at a time?" she asked.

"Maybe if I stood in front of them and you thumb through the pages," he replied.

"Then you stand right in front of these two drawers. Wonder Girl, you thumb through the one on the right and I'll do this one. We might be able to cut our time in half this way."

That said, they were still going to be going through a lot of documents. At the very least, they could cut out a lot of time reading them to get the gist. Cyborg's internal processors would be able to find exactly what they wanted in minutes once the whole archive was digitally recorded.

They just didn't need someone poking their head in here in the meantime.

* * *

Somebody needed to change the light bulbs in this place. There was barely any light coming from the ones that were screwed in and how was anybody suppose to find their way around this place?

Taking lead, Red Robin was the one who was scouting ahead, looking around corners for any signs of life. So far, they had only encountered a couple prison guards, but those two large men hadn't even known they were there, instead strolling through the place like they owned it.

Without needing to say "all's clear," the masked teen gestured for the others to move closer, all the while turning the corner and inching down the corridor. Keeping an eye towards the ceiling, he frowned at the lack of security devices. You would think there would be cameras all over the place, yet so far the halls were absent of them.

Either this place was underfunded, or this was intentional. Now that he thought about it, if a guard wanted to assault a prisoner, the hallways would be the best place to do it. Out of sight, no cameras to record evidence, and the poor guy fell down a flight of stairs was a ready-made excuse.

"Dude, why is it so quiet here?" Beast Boy asked, his voice a little too loud for Red Robin's liking. Also, way too close.

"Ssh!" he hissed, quickly looking around and straining his hearing for any sounds of footsteps. "Keep it down!"

"Sorry!" the green shape-shifter told him. After a moment, "I'm serious, though. It's way too quiet in here."

Clenching his teeth for a second, he finally asked, "What makes you say that?"

"Hello, ears? They aren't for decoration," Beast Boy replied, flapping said ears to draw attention to them.

That's right, the green male did have better hearing than most. However, it was best to get a second opinion, just in case. "Sense anything?"

That was obviously to Raven. A look at her, though, made him wonder if he should have asked her anything. The bridge of her nose was wrinkled and it looked like she was struggling, though how he could tell that, he did not know. Still, she did respond.

"I am sensing a lot of things, and none of them are good," she stated. "There is a lot of...ill intent. Negative feelings. I can especially sense them in that direction." She added a gesture of a hand that slipped out from her cloak. Following the direction she was pointing in, Red Robin found that whatever she was sensing was further down this hallway.

"Can you give a little more details?" He was hesitant to ask that, but knew that he needed a little more information than just negative feelings and ill intent.

"Red Robin, let me put it this way. We are in a building that is filled to the brim with sex-starved, sociopathic convicts. What do people like that think and feel on a daily basis?" Raven stated in the most clinical tone you could imagine.

"The showers aren't that way, are they?" Beast Boy squeaked.

"Let us hope not. I do not think our young, nubile bodies would survive their attentions," Starfire agreed.

That was an image he so did not need.

"I'm guessing that's where the cells are," Red Robin said slowly. "Best we don't go that way. Let's…let's go down that hallway."

"That hallway" was the first one to their left. From there, they eventually came across a stairwell, which they wordlessly agreed to go up. Everything was tense as they climbed up, careful not to make too much noise with each step they took. Eventually, Red Robin picked a random floor to exit and took a left once out of the stairwell.

He hoped he was leading them in the right direction. Now would be a hell of a time to get lost. Currently, they were in a hallway with doors on either side. They looked like the kind of doors one would have used in the 50s. How they hadn't rotted off was anyone's guess.

"Someone's coming!" Beast Boy hissed, head twisted around to look behind them.

Already Starfire had glowing, green energy forming in her hands. There were squeaking wheels that accompanied footsteps, which meant someone was pushing something—a trolley maybe?

Regardless, he was already reaching for the first door handle he could find and grabbed it. Luckily it wasn't locked and motioned for everyone to go in. Closing the door behind them, Red Robin soon found that they were all stuffed in a janitor's closet with barely any room.

"This could be better," Raven commented.

At least it wasn't Cassie who was stuck in here with him.

"Why does it smell?" Beast Boy complained, wrinkling his nose. "Does nobody know how to screw the caps on right?"

Red Robin tensed up as the noises from outside their cramped hiding place drew nearer. Belatedly, he wondered if it was a janitor trolley that was being pushed. But then that would mean...crap. They'd be coming here, wouldn't they?

Voices could be heard now, getting louder and louder. What was being said couldn't be made out, but that was kinda the least of the masked teen's worries. Every second seemed to bring them closer and closer to disaster.

And then they were passing by, the voices, the footsteps, the squeaking wheels. Red Robin waited with baited breath, wondering if this was too good to be true.

"They should be past us; we should get going," Raven spoke up, her black-glowing eyes reverting back to normal.

Ah, maybe some assistance from Ravan would get them out of this. Time to take advantage of her special abilities. Carefully opening the door, he took a quick look around before taking point and leading the group of four out of there. Letting Beast Boy's hearing to tell him which direction their unexpected company had gone, they went in the opposite direction and went through another door as quick as possible. Hopefully this would be close to where they...needed...to…

Red Robin had walked out onto a catwalk of all things, which was a bit surprising. Did prisons have these kind of things? Well, this one did, but that wasn't what was interesting. No, it was all the machinery belone that grabbed his attention. There was a long conveyor belt where men in prison jumpsuits were placing empty canisters. From there, they were carried merrily on their way until they reach one large machine that then pour some weird green liquid into them.

After being filled to the brim, the belt would move the canister further along where another inmate would place a top on it and a second one would seal it shut. After that, it was moved further down where it was picked up by two more men in jumpsuits who would place it on a trolley with other canisters. Once full, the trolley would be moved and another inmate would push an empty one to replace it, the whole process continuing without pause.

Oh, and there were like ten lines of this happening. What the hell were they seeing and was this normal for a prison?

"I am unfamiliar with the concept of prisons on this planet, but I feel that this is not normal," Starfire remarked.

"No shit," Red Robin found himself saying.

"For realz," Beast Boy agreed.

"I too also noticed the absence of defecation, however what I understand less is Beast Boy's butchering of his own language," the Tamaranian added.

Okay, he should have been more careful with his choice of words. Beast Boy too. With that said, there was one question that needed to be answered. From where was that green stuff coming from? What was it? How was it being made? Based on the apparatus over the conveyor belt, he could see pipes that led to the far wall, probably to a completely different room. And what do you know, on the far end of this catwalk, he could see a door.

"Let's get to the other side and see what's going on behind that door," he told the other three. "Raven, think you can keep us covered?"

"I'm beginning to feel taxed, but I should be able to keep any prying eyes from noticing us," Raven informed him, her eyes flashing black for the fraction of a second.

Okay, they needed to find some other ways to keep the cloak-wearing girl from overexerting herself. While he didn't have the greatest understanding of her powers, he did have a good idea, and based on some of the things she had said earlier, the kind of emotional affect coming from the inmates should be very negative and overpowering due to their numbers.

Still, they needed to find out what the hell was going on here.

Making their way down the catwalk, they reached the door he had spotted and found it too was unlocked. Passing through it, they found another large room that was about as industrial as the one they had just left. Unlike the previous one, this one held several sealed off vats that just so happened to have various pipes connected to them. Some pipes went into the wall while others connected to a large, metal...thing.

That thing might be some kind of blender or mixer or something, judging by the fact that a few inmates were pouring...stuff into it. It was kinda hard to tell it if was solid or liquid or whatever else it could be from where they were.

"They are manufacturing," Starfire summed up.

"I don't know what that means, but what are they making?" Beast Boy asked.

And that was the sixty-four thousand dollar question.

* * *

It had taken a long time to get every single document scanned in the archive. It was miraculous that no one had caught them the entire time.

Currently, Black Canary was creeping through the halls, leading Wonder Girl and Cyborg behind her. The original plan had been to head back the way they came. Unfortunately, a patrol had been coming from that direction, so they had to go the other way. What at once had been empty hallways now had a patrol of guards around every other corner.

So, to be frank, they were lost. Cyborg was trying to make sense of the seemingly random turns they had made and place it on his digital blueprint of the prison, having the occasional success. Canary was on high alert, one gut instinct away from beating the next patrol down with her fists.

Making yet another turn, they were creeping down the corridor, the occasional doorway passing them by. Eyes darting from side to side, the blonde vigilante searched for any possible threat that would force them to deviate from their plan any further.

It was because of this that she spotted it. Slowing to a stop, Black Canary stared at a metal door, one that was well polished and, well, new-looking. It stood out from the last century look this place had been conveying.

"Why are we stopped now?" Wonder Girl whispered from behind her.

Gesturing with a hand, the older woman responded, "Doesn't that look out of place here?"

The two teens looked to the door, studied it for a moment, then returned their attention back to her. "Not really," the younger blonde replied. "Can we get going?"

Canary straightened out her posture and turned to fully face the metal door. "Look at it. What's a door like that doing in a place like this?"

"Because it's a prison. Prisons have doors."

Wow, this girl was really observant, wasn't she? "Compare this door to the archive. That one was old and made of wood. This one is steel and newly-installed."

That caused Wonder Girl to pause. "I think she's onto something," Cyborg slowly agreed.

At last they were on the same page. "We need to check this out," Canary declared before she stepped to the door, grabbing the handle and twisting it. The knob turned and the door swung out easily, the hinges not even squealing from rust.

Moving into the room, Black Canary knew she had been right. There was a hallway that looked like it belonged in an office building back in Gotham rather than this 18th century prison. There was tile flooring and cream-colored walls. Walking down the corridor, the vigilante was back on high alert, searching for any immediate threats.

They reached a doorway soon after, taking a moment to open the door and peek inside. It was an empty room, so they moved on from it quickly. Finding another door, they investigated this as well, finding a messy office, a desk littered with paperwork and diagrams pinned to the wall. Making sure Cyborg did a quick scan of the room, they once more moved on.

It was the third room they checked that landed them pay dirt. It was a small lab with room enough for a table covered in lab tech. A microscope, tubes, beakers, Bunsen burner, and chemicals covered the table. In the corner was a closed laptop computer, one that was clearly off as there weren't any lights flashing from the device. That was the first sign of modern technology here and the off-status would've explained why Cyborg hadn't been able to connect with it.

Lastly, and more importantly, there was a man in the room. He had this fatherly look about him, one that was helped by the suit he wore. From behind a set of thick-rimmed glances, he stared at them patiently. "I seem to have some unexpected guests," he remarked casually.

Behind her, Black Canary felt the teens stiffen. They were on their guards, ready to attack. While that was nice of them to acknowledge their current position, a fight was not what they needed right now. Taking center stage, the blonde vigilante asked, "Who are you?"

The man raised a hand to his glasses and removed them, using a handkerchief to clean them. "I am Dr. Randolph Porter. And you are?"

"Just visiting."

"So I see." Porter replaced his glasses on his face, his handkerchief falling onto the table in front of him. "From your current dress, I assume you aren't just passing through. You're looking for something." He then spread his arms out to either side of him. "I believe _this_ is what you were seeking."

"So what if it is?" Wonder Girl spat out, shifting nervously on her feet. "What are you even doing here?"

Porter didn't look the least bit offended by the girl's sharp retort. "Isn't it obvious? I am a scientist."

Yes, it was obvious, but that still didn't answer Wonder Girl's question. "And what exactly are you working on here?" Black Canary repeated for her.

The corner of the scientist's mouth twitched up. "A project of much importance, I assure you. Unfortunately, there are only so many places that allow me the freedom I need to fully operate."

"Just answer the question," Cyborg demanded as he took a step to stand right next to Canary. "We don't care what face you put on it, just tell us."

"If you insist." Porter appraised Cyborg with an eye, though Canary suspected it was out of professional curiosity more than anything. After all, he claimed to be a scientist and Cyborg was the epitome of science. "I must assume that if you are here, you have already come across Venom."

While Black Canary kept a neutral look on her face, the two teens did not, looking befuddled by the response. "What's Venom?" Wonder Girl asked.

"A super-steroid," Porter answered. "Its purpose is to enhance strength, speed, and stamina in a subject. There are even some regenerative attributes if used correctly."

That sounded all too familiar. In fact, Canary was willing to gamble this man had something to do with Bane and she knew just what to do to prove this. "You're talking about Project Gilgamesh."

For once, Porter looked surprised. "You've heard about my project?" _Bingo._ They had their man. "My, my, you are well-informed."

That was when a thoughtful look appeared on the doctor's face. "How did you come across this information? Only Peña Duro is aware of what I do, since most governments frown on the use of human test subjects. The only way you could have found out is if you encountered one of the test subjects…"

His eyes then brightened. "You've met Bane, haven't you."

Black Canary clenched her hands into fists. "You're the one that made him."

"Indeed I did. He is the pinnacle of what Gilgamesh is capable of." Porter than moved to his laptop and opened it, turning it on. A few moments passed before his fingers tapped on the keyboard. "Allow me to show you something."

From the ceiling, a projector turned on, casting a light onto the far wall. It took a moment, but Black Canary realized some sort of film was being played. There was no sound being played, so the black and white image was taking up all of the attention. Someone was holding a small board at the bottom of the image, PROJECT GILGAMESH it read. SUBJECT #42.

 _Subject #42?_ Porter had made a casual mention of human test subjects. It didn't take much to come to the conclusion there had been forty one previous test subjects. Looking to the rest of the image, Black Canary saw a man strapped down to a table, his features covered up by some sort of cloth hood. Tubes hung from the ceiling and reached down to the man. Other people in surgical attire milled around until they all suddenly stopped.

For several moments, nothing happened. Then the man on the table spasmed, his body practically leaping off of the table, but was held down due to the restraints at his wrist and ankles. Back arched, the man seemed to thrash about before his body slammed back down on the table. His body seemed to be growing bigger too, enlarging to insane proportions.

And then one of his hands shot up into the air, ripping the wrist restraint right off the table. That was followed shortly by the other restraints giving out, the surgical staff suddenly running around in a panic. The enlarged man then shot a hand out and grabbed one of the surgeons right by their neck. With what looked like relative ease, he threw the main off the screen, just as men in security uniforms appeared on screen. The first one to arrive was immediately grabbed by the large man and also thrown into the air, only the guard was sent flying towards the camera, his back growing larger until the feed jolted and became static.

"As you can see, it was a success," Porter explained, looking to the static. "I had searched long and far for a specimen worth the effort of this project and Bane was my absolution. I had long theorized that Venom, when injected right into the brain, increased the chances of creating a super-human. He is my proof."

"Are you telling me this Venom stuff makes people super-human?" Cyborg gasped after a moment.

"Quite right. I had originally began with pills, but that delivery system was inefficient, not to mention led to addiction. The longer one was on the Venom capsules, the more they craved them, not that I can fault them. If I had access to such strength, I would desire it as well."

That caused Black Canary to narrow her eyes. So this Venom stuff was addictive? That was pretty significant. If it was addictive in pill form, it had to be in liquid form as well. A medication didn't lose certain properties because it was in a different form. This Venom would be no different.

Unfortunately, it seemed Wonder Girl had the same thoughts. Unlike Black Canary, she voiced those thoughts. "But if Venom is addictive in pill form, wouldn't it still be addictive when injected into the brain?"

"Quite right," Porter admitted. "Though I have no basis, it is possible that prolonged exposure in this method of delivery could create an addiction so great that one would have to take Venom on a daily basis. The withdrawals alone would be agonizing."

What a lovely thought.

"I believe that is why he returned," the glasses-wearing man continued. "After that footage ends, he instigated a break out, the first of its kind in this prison's history. When he came back, he made some changes, and offered me the opportunity to continue my research in exchange for manufacturing large quantities of Venom. Predictably, it is to avoid the withdrawals, and naturally I accepted. Where else would I have such cooperation? So much of this place has changed, and not just within these prison walls, and all of it thanks to Venom.

"So, now that I've told you of Gilgamesh, you must tell me, how is Bane performing? You cannot tell me that you have not confronted him because you would not be here without doing so."

"He's a monster," Black Canary growled.

"You are going to be have to give me more than that. This is for the advancement of Science."

The blonde woman took a threatening step forward. "No, it's not. It's a sick experiment that will be coming to an end."

Whatever civility Porter had been displaying vanished as he looked at her in disappointment. "No, it will not. If you will not support my project, then your interference will not be tolerated."

Reaching to his laptop, he pressed a button on the keyboard. "Attention, attention, there are intruders in the Research Wing," he spoke calmly. "All personal to the Research Wing."

* * *

To Guest: Bat-Joker has become popular, I must say

To MRFlackAttack: Well, can't argue with that lol


	19. Escape From Pena Duro

They had just left the factory when the alarm went off. A klaxon echoed down the hallway, each shrill mechanical scream making Red Robin's heart pound in agonizing horror.

Immediately, he turned around and faced the resident shape-shifter. "Beast Boy, what the hell did you do?"

"Hey! I didn't do anything this time! Honest!" Beast Boy exclaimed, waving his hands frantically. "I didn't touch anything I wasn't suppose to—this time!"

Through the alarm, the teen vigilante managed to make out the words "intruders" and "Research Wing." Based on what they had seen recently, he wondered if it could even be considered research. Factory, manufacturing, those qualified, but research? Perhaps this time Beast Boy was innocent of the charge.

Even though he had a nasty habit of pressing buttons that had signs that said, "Do Not Press."

It was Rachel who pointed out, "It must be the other group. I'm only guessing here, but perhaps they found something and were caught."

"Hopefully they found the archives first before they did...whatever they did," Red Robin grumbled, checking the hallway as he spoke.

"Ha! Now I can rip on Cyborg for being the one to trigger the alarm this time!" Beast Boy cheered.

And him with Wonder Girl. If they got out of this alive.

"Okay, we need to find a way out of here before—"

"¡Allí están! ¡Mátalos antes de que lleguen demasiado lejos!"

He...had no idea what was said, but it couldn't be good. Having just come around a corner, there was a prison guard with a gun in hand, aiming at them while gesturing for others to back him up. Immediately, Red Robin threw a— _grumble_ —birdarang and disarmed the man, knocking the gun into the air as the guard gripped his hand in pain.

While one threat was temporarily dealt with, his buddies had shown up and were taking aim. Good thing that Beast Boy was already charging forward, taking the form of an elephant. A black glow covered him so that when the guard began firing, the bullets bounced off the glow harmlessly.

Realizing too late that their guns were having no effect on the charging pachyderm, the uniformed men tried going back the way they came. Beast Boy decided to help them with that by raising his trunk, trumpeting an elephant war cry before swinging it from one side to the other, knocking the guards back into the hallway they had come from. That left the present corridor clear and the other teens plus a Tamaranian were quickly following the magic-encased elephant.

"How long do you think you can keep that shield up?" Red Robin hollered at Raven.

The disappointing "Not long" really dampened his mood even further.

Maybe it wouldn't be needed. Beast Boy was skidding to a stop before reverting to his human form, his thin arm reaching for the door handle to the stairs. Nice and quick actions, that's what the masked teen liked to see.

No sooner had the door been pushed open that Beast Boy came to an abrupt stop, Red Robin almost running into him. Fortunately, before a demand to know why the younger teen was stopping could come out of his throat, he saw what was on the other side. A bunch of the sex-starved, sociopathic convicts were on the other side, holding their homemade shivs and any other blunt or sharp object they could get their hands onto.

And no, none of them looked nice at all.

"Um, wrong door?" Beast Boy squeaked.

Suddenly, said door was slammed shut and a hand covered in green energy was welding one side of it shut. "We must needs find another way," Starfire stated even as meaty fists began banging on the other side.

"Right," Red Robin nodded his head, "back the…"

It was a shame that the entrance to the stairs was at the end of a hallway since another grip of convicts suddenly appeared out of another intersecting hall. That meant they were cornered by the inmates. all of whom looked really happy to see them, a few actually licking their lips in anticipation. Of course, all of them were armed with some kind of weapon made specifically for hitting people.

And it looked like there were more of them than were in the stairwell.

"Fine," Red Robin sighed as he rolled his shoulders. "Time to get rough."

* * *

There were prisoners everywhere.

Ever since Dr. Porter had sounded the alarm, it was pandemonium throughout the Research Wing. Not only had the guards come in force, but so had the prisoners. In fact, it seemed like both sides were working with each other.

That was not a discovery Black Canary relished in.

The hall she was in was covered with the unconscious bodies of the first wave of attackers. A second wave was closing in on the three of them from both sides. That was alright; while they had the advantage in numbers, the hallways limited how many of them could attack at any given time.

Cyborg had transformed one of his arms into a beam cannon, one he was using more for precision than flat out destroying everything. It had been decided early on that he would target the guards, ya know, since they had the guns. Fighting and dodging bullets was not a fun time. So the mechanical man took aim, seemed to wait an eternity, and then a beam of yellow energy fired from his cannon, racing through the air until it hit a guard head on. While the beam didn't roast the guard alive, it did knock him backwards, conveniently crashing into a prisoner that was standing behind him.

Apparently Cyborg could set his phaser to stun.

That just left the prisoners to try and attack up close and personal. One such man with a scar running from his forehead and down across his eye was one such attacker. Flying through the air, Black Canary swung a leg, her kick slamming into the side of the man's head and sent him careening the short distance into the wall, where he promptly dropped to the floor in an unconscious heap. The moment she landed back on the floor, Canary raised her arms up, bending her right arm at the elbow and making a fist with her hand. Her other hand cupped her fist, steadying it as she lunged forward, ramming her elbow right into the throat of a burly Hispanic man. The convict gagged from the blow as he shot his hands up to his neck, his body cringing.

Not one to let ethics or morals get the best of her in a fight, Black Canary turned her body to face the much larger man, all so she could draw her leg back and then swinging it forward, her foot nailing the man against his private parts. Immediately, he dropped to his knees, hands now grabbing his injured man parts before he collapsed to the floor, mostly from a lack of air in his lungs. Two blows to very sensitive areas made a man lose air he didn't have to begin with.

That left just two on her side. Both were armed with clubs and had every intent on using them. Canary backed off a step, causing one of them to come swinging at her with his club. She jumped backwards to avoid the attack, then shot forward just in time to get her hands on the prisoner's arm as he tried a backswing. Successfully stopping the counterattack, she kept a firm grip with one hand on the arm even as she raised a foot up and then stomped it down on the man's foot. Her opponent shouted as he unconsciously flinched back, though his hurt foot stayed where it was thanks to Canary's boot pinning it down. With her closest arm, she lashed out with it, the bottom of her fist colliding with the man's nose, giving him something else to cry about.

Canary then put all of her focus on the blunt weapon. Moving both of her hands, she grabbed ahold of it and wrenched it out of the prisoner's hand, pulling it to her far shoulder before she swung it back. The club slammed into the man's face and knocked him out cold even before he collapsed to the floor.

By then, his last remaining friend decided to attack. As Canary finished her initial swing, she then performed a backswing, timing it just right to block her last foe's own swing. The clubs collided with each other, stopping them in midair.

Immediately, Canary dropped to a knee even as she pulled her weapon back and arced it downward. She then struck the prisoner on the side of his knee, causing it jerk to one side at an awkward angle, causing an intense scream to rip out of the man's mouth. She then arced the club out and upwards, slamming it against the side of the man's face and causing his head to snap to a side. One last backswing ended him a moment later, leaving him lying in a heap of pain and unconsciousness.

Looking down the hallway, Canary saw no more prisoners coming towards her, at least for the moment. Turning around, she checked out how Tim's friends were doing. Cyborg seemed to be holding himself at the ready, watching for the next guard mingled with the remaining prisoners. Wonder Girl, on the other hand, was in the middle of the the guards, having somehow put too much distance between her and her allies.

That was a tactical blunder. Fortunately, the girl seemed to have the strength to keep her upright. Even now she was swinging a backhand, one that nailed a nearby prisoner and sent him flying through the air, crashing into a wall barely a second later. Of course, that's when another prisoner leaped at her, swinging a fist at her face, which she jerked back to avoid at the last second.

It looked like she could use some help.

Black Canary brushed by Cyborg, ordering, "Cover us," as she passed by. Picking up her pace as she headed towards the crowd surrounding Wonder Girl, she then leaped up into the air, leaning back as she extended a leg out in front of her. Her flying kick collided with the side of a prisoner's head, knocking him off his feet and into a friend of his next to him. As she began to drop back to the floor, her momentum carried her right to the next convict. Leaning forward as her feet touched the ground, Canary rushed behind the man and once again jumped into the air. Simultaneously, she drew her arm across her chest before lashing out with it, delivering a chop to the prisoner next to her against his neck, all the while, swinging another kick, that connected with the face of the prisoner next to him.

Both men dropped to the floor, making that three men Canary dispatched as she made her way around the circle the convicts formed around Wonder Girl. The next prisoner had turned to face her and was even swinging a crowbar at her head. In response, the blonde vigilante immediately closed the distance, shooting an arm up to block the attack, her forearm coming into contact with her opponent's, stopping the swing. Immediately, her hands shot forward, grabbing onto the sides of the man's head and pulling him down. At the same time, she brought a leg up, keeping it bent at the knee. Her knee rammed into the man's face, stunning him. Shoving his head away, she then forced it back down, this time jumping up so that her knee destroyed whatever was left of his nose.

The two of them landed on the floor a moment later, Canary on her feet and the convict on his back. By then, another prisoner was lunging at her, throwing a fist for her face. Spinning to a side until she had her back facing her foe, Canary dodge the blow as it sailed over her shoulder next to her head. With one hand, she grabbed the man by the wrist and kept pulling on his arm, forcing him forward while her other hand went to the waistband of his pants. Shoving her shoulder into the man's armpit, she used it as leverage as she bent forward, simultaneously pulling on the prisoner's arm and waistband. The man was lifted up into the air before he fell face first into the floor, a sickening _crack!_ being made. For a moment, the prisoner seemed to stand there, legs in the air, face on the floor, but then gravity caused him to fall over into a heap.

Snapping her torso back up, Canary pivoted on her feet again, swinging out a fist as she did so. Her timing was perfect as she delivered a backhand to the next prisoner, stunning him as his head snapped to a side. Continuing her spin, Canary swung her other fist, ramming it right into the man's solar plexus, forcing the air out of his lungs and leaving him breathless. She drew the same arm back before throwing another punch, landing an uppercut that sent the man flying backwards until he landed on the floor.

Which left one more prisoner. A look of terror was on his face, which caused him to spin around and take off running down the hallway. He didn't get too far as Cyborg was suddenly there, one arm raised up at shoulder height. He clotheslined the man, sending him flipping feet over head until he landed on the ground, his body slumping into a pile of arms and legs.

Black Canary searched the hall for anymore prisoners, soon finding herself looking at Wonder Girl. The blonde girl was staring at her with wide eyes, arms limply at her sides. "You okay?" the vigilante questioned, her eyes probing for any injuries on the girl, seeing none.

"Wow," was all she responded. This caused Black Canary to raise an eyebrow, but not probe the situation further. There weren't any other threats visible, so it was time to move on.

"Cyborg, which way do we go now?" she asked as she looked to the teen.

Cyborg seemed to look dazed for a moment, but that was because he was sorting through his files. "This Research Wing isn't on any of the schematics," he said after awhile. "We're kind of blind here."

"Then we're going to have to find something familiar." At this, Canary began walking down the hallway. There was a moment before she heard the rapid footsteps of the two teens trying to keep up with her. "We'll need to find the others too."

Of course, that's when more of the prisoners appeared, rounding a corner at the end of the hallway. Canary clenched her hands into fists as she began to pick up her pace. "A little cover fire," she ordered over her shoulder.

Immediately, an energy shot passed her, striking the front-most prisoner and blasting him off his feet. By then, Black Canary was at full speed, closing the distance between her and the men rapidly.

It was time to get her hands dirty again.

* * *

There were more uses to a starbolt than one would readily see. Usually, Starfire would fire them much how a plasma rifle would, with consequences being damned. However, the life energy she found herself using was also a source of life and it did not require much to increase its brightness.

This was something these odd, human prisoners were finding out, having to shield their eyes as the Tamaranian blinded them. Such a tactic would generate hesitation, enough for her comrades to take advantage and subdue.

It was a strategy she used more often since she had begun joining Red Robin out on his forays into the city that was Jump City. Like back in that home away from home, the caped human male was moving past her and using his much improved hand-to-hand combat skills. From ramming a foot into one man's face, twisting in the air to kick the side of another's head, and then crouching down on the ground to trip the third, there was constant movement that she approved of.

Those sparring sessions he had been engaging in with Wonder Girl were showing its results.

Of course, you never left a fellow fighter by themselves. Firing the two starbolts she had formed, her blast burned through the air until they detonated on two prisoners, incapacitating them, she then joined in the combat. She took a measured approach, restraining her monumental strength so as to not cause serious, or fatal, harm to these human aggressors. Bones could be mended, as they would be learning shortly, but life could never be restored.

One of the larger attackers had regained his eyesight and was wielding a homemade club, or at least that was what she believed it was. It mattered not what it was, only what it was being used to do, which was to visit grievous bodily harm on herself. To her combat-trained eyes, she picked up that the human was a brute who relied more on his strength to fight than a technique that required precision and skill.

It was simple to block him with her lower arm, taking advantage of his surprise—if his facial expression truly reflected that—to deliver a blow to the stomach. Most complex organisms were vulnerable if you hit them in that particular area and this human was no different as he slumped forwards, arms cradling his lower torso. With a spin, she swung a leg and struck the incapacitated male, throwing him into his fellow prisoners and causing them to collapse onto the floor.

Two of Red Robin's throwing projectiles flew by her head, the orange-skinned female barely batting an eye. From the sounds of metal colliding with flesh and skull, she knew that her fellow teammate hadn't been aiming at her. In fact, she had been part of such a maneuver before, not only on Earth but in the last coup she had been involved with. Always close, but if done right, the ally was never harmed.

She returned the favor, nonetheless, firing a starbolt to knock away a large man with facial piercings who happened to be trying to sneak up on the smaller, costumed male. With almost practiced ease, the pair of them slid together, back-to-back, to reevaluate the battlefield and renew an assault if necessary.

Directly ahead of her, she could see a hallway that was filled with more enemies, all of them aggressive, but holding back as they eyed her warily. As for Red Robin, he was probably seeing how their other teammates were doing. She had confidence that the pair of Raven and Beast Boy were holding their own, but without visual contact she could not be certain.

"We need to make a break for it," Red Robin spoke up, his voice barely audible over the sounds of violence and shouting, yet she still heard him.

"How do you wish to break?" Starfire found herself asking.

"I mean, we need to leave. I know I didn't come all this way looking for a fight with an army's worth of criminals," the smaller male corrected.

Why had he not said that from the first?

"I see an intersecting hallway up ahead," the Tamarian warrior said instead. "I will need to push our enemies back if we are to reach it."

"Sounds like something Wonder Girl would like to do," Red Robin muttered. "Alright, do what you can. Hurt them if you need to, but try not to kill. I know we also didn't come all the way here to do that."

"Understood," Starfire nodded, her hands filling with her life energy. The enemies ahead of her took a step back, uncertain what to do. Their suspicion may prove to be useful.

Making an attempt to take advantage of it, she fired a bolt at their front-most feet she could see, the prisoners in the front shoving back against those behind them to try and avoid it. Hmm, very promising. She fired a second, watching acutely as the previous action was repeated.

It was successful thus far. Best to go all in before the prisoners regained their courage.

Rapidly, she began firing starbolt after starbolt, and now the prisoners were making no attempt at hiding their retreat. Their fear of what her attack may do to them outweighed their confidence in their own strength.

"With me!" she called over her shoulder, moving forward to continue the momentum. It was very easy for her to continue firing her starbolts and gaining ground until the hallway she had spied earlier was now accessible. She moved past it enough to allow the others to slip into it before she covered their retreat.

"This is starting to look familiar," Raven remarked. "I think we're heading back the way we came."

"That's how it'll have to be. We can try to get off this floor in there," Red Robin decided. "Let's go before we get swarmed."

They had no choice by then as the prison's inhabitants had gained enough willpower to block the intersecting hallway off. Starfire would keep them at bay, even as she retreated from them.

* * *

Pulling harder on the door handle than necessary, Red Robin held it open for Raven and Beast Boy to pass through, waiting for Starfire to join them before entering himself and shutting it closed. Already, Starfire was creating a patchwork welding job on the door frame so as to block access and buy them some time.

They were back on that catwalk in the factory they had found earlier, still noisy but with a lot less people in it. That wouldn't last long and they would be sitting ducks if anyone caught them up here. There was only so much space to move around in.

"Okay, what's the plan?" Beast Boy asked.

What was the plan? So far, he was making it up as he went along. Looking out into the multiple conveyor belts and the machine that hung over them all, an idea occurred to him.

"Since they're not going to be nice and let us walk out, I say we start wrecking their stuff. Beast Boy, think you can get over all that?" He gestured to the machine that continued to pour that green liquid, though there weren't any canisters to be filled right now. Someone wasn't thinking by leaving it on.

"Yeah, why?" the green shape-shifter asked.

"I want you to do that thing you tried to do with Blood," the masked teen explained.

All he got was a blank look. "What thing?"

"You know." Red Robin suddenly discovered he didn't recall exactly what Beast Boy had down. So okay, it had been a while. Oh wait...oh yeah, there it was. "The whale thing," he prompted.

Green eyes blinked before there was any recognition. "Oh yeah! I'm on it!"

"And what about the rest of us?" Raven asked wryly.

" _¡Allí están!_ " There was movement below and guns were being aimed up at them.

"Shield!" Red Robin exclaimed, ignoring how shrill his voice became. The instant he registered the sounds of gunfire, a black barrier formed in front of them, bullets bouncing off it.

With his heart hammering in his chest, he continued, "You can hold them off. Starfire, make sure no one comes at us from up here."

"Understood," Starfire said, turning her attention down the length of the catwalk.

Without a word, surprisingly, Beast Boy shifted into a green hummingbird, wings flapping rapidly as he took off and went out of sight. The shots from below didn't stop and Red Robin could see how Raven's brow began to furrow. From what she had said earlier, she wasn't in peak condition thanks to all the inmates here and their negative emotions. Hopefully, this wouldn't take too long.

There was a loud, shrill groan as a humpback whale suddenly appeared over the pouring machinery, and there were shouts of surprise from the men below. Pulling out a couple throwing projectiles, Red Robin threw them both out and succeeded in disarming at least two of them. By then, unable to handle Beast Boy's sudden increase in weight, the overhead machine collapsed underneath the whale and down onto the conveyor belts below. From the pipes that emerged from the wall, that mysterious green liquid continued to pour out, only now finding its home on the floor.

There were screams and yells as the men below ran for their lives, trying not to get crushed by the collapsing machinary. Their flight would be stopped when Red Robin led the charge below, leaping off the catwalk and and using his glider cape to angle himself just enough to ram his feet into the face of one inmate. Bolts of green energy fired from above and detonated against any guns that were out. Good ol, Starfire, doing a damn good job at disarming these people.

Attacking a fleeing prison guard, Red Robin rammed his back into the running man, his hands grabbing onto the guard's arm. Leveraging the arm against hsi shoulder, he flipped the larger man over his shoulder, where he landed on the ground hard. The teen vigilante then called out, "To the other room! Quick!"

The humpback whale was now a bull, charging about and scaring away a few of the disarmed guards. "How'd you like this running of the bulls!" the shape-shifter crowed as he ran about.

Of the machinery that was currently a pile of scraps, a black glow wrapped around the larger pieces and picked them up. They flew overhead and were slammed none too gently against the lower entrance to this large room, blocking the way and making sure no one would be entering that way. _Nice job, Raven._

Floating up above, Starfire held both of her hands over her head forming a large ball of green energy. With a cry, she fired it at the fall wall, where the other half of this manufacturing process took place. The energy detonated, causing an explosion. The wall, though, held; at least it had caved in a bit where a spider's web of cracks formed all around and in the large dent.

"Coming through!" Beast Boy yelled, now a rhino that was charging at that portion of the wall. Weakened by Starfire's attack, the centuries' old bricks gave way and formed a very big hole as the green rhino broke through it.

Already running, Red Robin was following after, throwing a projectile at a nearby guard that had taken cover behind some debris. The guy was popping out of his hiding spot, aiming his gun at what would be Beast Boy's rear, but would never take the shot as he was nailed in the forehead by the birdarang.

And then Red Robin was passing through the hole, bringing up his cape as a shield. There were still people in here and a few of them were armed. His arms shuddered as bullets pelted his cape and he took a step back even as he crouched low to the floor. Belatedly, he wondered where Beast Boy went because he couldn't remember for the life of him if the changeling had remained a rhino, or shifted into something else. Probably something else because he would have been the first to see the guns.

On either side of him, two of Starfire's bolts tore through the air and struck two of the gun-wielding men. Immediately, he felt the hits from the bullets against his cape lessen, but he remained defensive. He couldn't afford to peek his head out when there was still a danger of getting hit in the head.

There were more blast flying all around, and then those were accompanied by the trumpeting of an elephant to the vigilante's right. With his trunk swinging from left to right, Beast Boy was taking out the resistance to that side of the room easily.

That left those to his left. Many of them were dispatched when one of the large pipes up above was torn from its place connecting the large mixing machines and the wall to the room behind him. As the mixer continued to spill out more of that green stuff, the pipe was swung, with a black glow of course, and knocked away anybody who happened to be standing or not smart enough to get out of the way.

Now was the time Red Robin emerged from behind his cape, throwing two explosive projectiles to either side of him. As fiery flares stopped the remained gunmen, the masked teen was moving to his left, striking one of the men who had ducked under the pipe first in his chest and then to the throat, followed by grabbing the schmuck's arm and throwing him over his shoulder to slam onto the floor.

Taking a second to land a sharp kick to the fallen man's face, Red Robin spun around to take down a second...inmate. The guy wasn't wearing a guard's uniform so it had to be an inmate. Having also ducked under the pipe, but was holding a large wrench, the incarcerated criminal took a swing with the tool at the teen vigilante.

Red Robin pulled back and evaded the first swing, ducked under the second, then jumped to the side as the wrench was swung down from above. As the wrench's head struck the floor, Red Robin leaped high into the air, placing his hands on the inmate's head and forcing it down into his knee. Literally rolling across the larger man's back, the masked teen extended a leg out and swung it to land a second hit to the face and take this one down too.

Arms wrapped around him from behind, forcing his own arms against his sides. Narrowing his eyes, Red Robin activated the rockets in his boots for a second, allowing the propulsion to hurl him up into the air while simultaneously breaking his captor's hold.

As quickly as he had activated the rockets, he had shut them down and allowed himself to flip over while in midair, similar to how he had seen Nightwing do it countless times. And thanks to the spars he had found himself in with Cassie, and a few with Kori, he was already bring his legs up and swinging his knees into the back of asshole here's head. A little jarring for his joints, but it was still effective in bringing this guy down.

Landing on his feet, Red Robin did a quick scan of the room and found that the others were making quick work of the goons here. Now to continue with the wrecking.

Spotting what looked like a panel on the side of the large mixing machine, the masked teen came to the conclusion that that was what turned the thing on, or off. Now would have been a good time to have something on him that was electric in nature, you know, to short it out, but he didn't have anything like that. Oh well, best go with tried and true then. Pulling out one of his explosive birdarangs, he threw the projectile and watched as it blew that panel back to the freaking Stone Age.

Casually, he ducked under one of the prison's inmates who was sent flying by insert whoever you think was responsible for it. He barely batted an eye when another of these mixing machines took on a black glow and then crumpled in on itself like it was an empty soda can. He observed as he saw Starfire hovering over another machine and firing a continuous blast of green energy into an opening, the same one where they had seen these inmates pouring materials into. As this machine had its pipeline to the other manufacturing room torn off it, he could see and smell the machine's contents frying within.

Lastly, he spied out another entrance to this room, and figured that that was their exit from this place. At least they could see about finding the other group then getting the hell out of here.

Hopefully, for their sakes, no one would try to get in the group of teens' way.

* * *

Raven found that it was getting easier to concentrate and think in this place. Perhaps it was because they were rendering everyone they found unconscious so that their natural negative affect wasn't being detected.

Nevertheless, the empathic girl would love nothing more than to leave Peña Duro. Red Robin seriously owed her for putting her through this.

Their group of four had finally left that unforeseen manufacturing plant and were moving quickly away from it. It was fortunate that they hadn't come across any of the guards or prisoners here. However, that meant more running than taking a rest from all this excitement.

Which was why she was choosing to levitate. With the decrease in negative emotions, that too was easier to accomplish.

"Any ideas on where we're going?" she spoke up with the blandest tone she could muster.

"Trying to see where the others are," Red Robin responded. "Those three are still somewhere in this place. Hopefully they found what we were looking for so we can get out of here."

"They better," Beast Boy grumbled.

Hmm, sounded like someone was tired and expressing how cranky he was. How very not charming.

Taking a left—because this hallway came to an end and only allowed a left turn—the group of four barely slowed their pace. Further down, there was a flash of light followed by a boom that seemed far off, more than likely muffled by the thick walls. If Raven didn't know any better, she would have believed that was one of the energy blasts that she knew Cyborg was capable of making.

Which meant they were closer to the other three than she had thought.

"I believe we have found our teammates," Starfire voiced for them all.

"Beast Boy!" Red Robin spoke in a commanding tone, not giving anything further but it seemed the changeling understood.

"On it!" And there he went as a cheetah, quickly pulling away from them and turning abruptly down an intersecting hallway. The cloak-wearing teen could hear another boom, this one louder as they reached the turn-off.

"Get ready," their caped leader warned as he made the turn, a couple of his throwing projectiles in hand. The flying Tamaranian beside him was readying two starbolts, so the empath thought she best focus herself for whatever spells she needed to cast. Up ahead was a broken down door and no sign of any green animal.

And then a body of a screaming man came flying through doorway, faceplanting on the floor and skidding to a stop. As his legs flopped to the floor and he picked his head up, his face was then greeted by Red Robin's booted foot and his consciousness robbed as a result.

That was probably Wonder Girl. Most likely a throw as her punches never had such a comedic effect.

Entering the room ahead, Red Robin skidded to a stop while Starfire shot ahead of him before coming to a halt herself. Raven hung back, taking the position of watching their backs. The room was a mess, difficult to name what it used to be as most of its contents had been destroyed in one way or another, the unconscious bodies of both prison guards and prisoners strewn all about. Standing close to the other side were Cyborg and Wonder Girls, both poised and ready to strike. Off to the side, a green cheetah was crouched down, prepared to pounce. Black Canary was busy jabbing a fist into one guard's face before allowing him to drop to the floor, unmoving.

Whipping her head about, blonde hair swinging about, the Gotham vigilante spotted them and stated, "So what took you so long?"

"And hello to you too," the cheetah spoke up first. "You got some moves."

"Sorry, we got caught up," Red Robin said quickly before any offensive, or more likely frustration, could occur. He lowered his arms, still holding on to his throwing projectiles. "I don't suppose any of you three would know why everybody in this place is trying to kill us?"

Cyborg and Wonder Girl were sharing a look, but Black Canary didn't seem to have any hesitation. "We found a guy who shouldn't be in a place like this and when he didn't like what we had to say, he narked on us—and from what it sounds like, you guys too."

"Ha! Told you it wasn't me this time!" Beast Boy bragged.

Black Canary gave the green cheetah a look before turning back to Red Robin. "I'm betting you didn't have a good time either."

"Well, we found something big. A factory, you know, something that shouldn't be in a prison," Red Robin remarked. "We trashed it when the alarm was raised. Whatever they were making, I have no idea and I don't think it was good."

Strangely, the older vigilante and their two teammates shared a look between each other. "You don't think it's that Venom stuff Porter was talking about?" Cyborg asked.

Venom?

"Bane uses it to make himself superhuman and if it's as addictive as he claimed, of course he would want a way to make the stuff. A lot of it," Black Canary stated. "Especially if he didn't want any withdrawals. But how did he get it set up in this place?"

"What if this place is home base?" Cyborg suggested. "When this Bane guy isn't doing what he does for a living, or what he's doing in Gotham, this is where he comes back to chill?"

"Chilling in a prison? I can think of a million other places," Wonder Girl deadpanned.

That depended on how you relaxed. From her experience, while Peña Duro wasn't on her list of top ten places to vacation, she knew of much worse places. In comparison, this prison was much more relaxing.

"Well, the guards and inmates seem to be working together," Red Robin pointed out. "Maybe Bane's operation is way bigger than we thought."

Before they could continue, there was noise coming from one of the doorways. There was another rush of residents heading for them.

"I am so tired of this," Black Canary growled as she turned to face the doorway. "Cover your ears."

Now, Raven barely caught sight of him, but she noticed how big Red Robin's eyes were behind his domino mask before he instantly dropped to one knee and clamped his hands over his ears. The rest of them could only share looks of confusion as Black Canary took up post in front of their group, facing the emerging, charging crowd of prisoners, all of whom were filled to the brim with malicious intent.

And then Black Canary screamed.

 _By Azar!_

The most piercing scream she had ever heard ripped forth from the blonde woman's mouth. With no effort, that scream destroyed any and all focus and concentration the cloak-wearing teen had spent years building up as her brain cried out in agony. Too late were her hands covering her ears, and she could still hear the remnants of that scream echoing in her head.

Other than Red Robin, the rest fared no better. Starfire had fallen out of the air and was crouched on her knees. Wonder Girl was still on her feet, her face contorted in pain. Beast Boy had returned to his human form, hands clutching the sides of his head. Cyborg was also on his feet, but his human eye looked like it was rolling up into his socket.

To save time, they all had their hands pressed against their ears.

But there was more to this scream than just it's inhuman pitch. Some unseen force slammed into the far wall, which caused the doorway to buckled. The prisoners had all come to a stop, and somehow, impossibly, were thrown back the way they came like some invisible force had hit them with all the power of a freight train.

It was...difficult to know how long it lasted as by then, Raven had closed her eyes shut. It took a hand on her shoulder to anchor herself, and eventually, she forced her eyelids open to find a concerned Black Canary looming over her.

Now, Raven didn't exactly hear her, but she had developed a talent for lipreading. Not that she had a lot of opportunity to use but it came in handy now as the blonde woman spoke.

"Told you to cover your ears."

A shame that she could not argue that she hadn't had advance warning.

Suddenly, all of the threatsthe blonde woman had made to raise her voice made a lot of sense.

It took some time—a lot of time—but it was a period where no one sprung a surprise attack on them. Perhaps that scream had scared anyone else intending to harm them away. Naturally, it was taken advantage of to regain some hearing and...recover.

"I think everyone's ready. Right, Beastie?"

"What?"

Most of them.

"Okay, so you mentioned you destroyed the factory?" Black Canary asked, directing her attention to Red Robin.

"Didn't leave an inch of it unscathed," the teen confirmed. "Even if they can repair it, it'll take a long time to do it. Hopefully it'll be enough time for us to take Bane down."

"Uh, question?" And Cyborg was raising a hand too. "We're guessing they were mass producing this Venom crap? If they are, uh, where are they keeping it all?"

Not a bad question, actually, and it was an alarming one. Based on what she had seen, they were making a large amount of this Venom. You couldn't stack it in a corner and forget about it. You needed to keep it somewhere until it was needed.

Wonder Girl sighed. "We're going to have to find where they're keeping it, aren't we?"

"What?!"

* * *

With a groan, the door opened. Light fell over the stockpile of canisters, all filled to the brim with Venom. Whatever the intentions for all this was, it couldn't be good.

It hadn't taken as long of a time to find this stockpile and the resistance the prison had was damn near non-existent. That made searching for the Venom easier than expected.

Impassively, Red Robin stared at it all, too tired to give any kind of over exaggerated response to it. Trudging through this hell hole, fighting guards and inmates alike, had drained him of energy. As impressive as the multitude of canisters would have been, Red Robin didn't have a care left to give. Instead, he looked over to Starfire and asked. "Care to nuke all this?"

"Commencing with the nuking," Starfire agreed as she held her hands close together, creating a larger than normal starbolt.

Without another word, the masked teen took a step back while the Tamaranian fired a large blast of green energy, consuming all the canisters in its green light.


	20. Attack From The Demon

The order had been given. The last vestiges of the Italian crime family resistance were present at the docks. The Unions were the last of their defensive shield and they were strong at the docks. They would be squashed beneath Bane's heel.

Standing on the balcony, the large man had his arms crossed over his broad chest, staring out towards the sea, and subsequently Gotham's harbor. A perimeter was currently being set around the docks by advanced groups, sealing off exits so that way the Italians could not escape him again. The main force was still in the building—his building—and they would be bringing the artillery.

"Preparations are almost complete," Zombie intoned from behind him. "Our transport has arrive. They are parking at the back of the building."

Right on schedule. Dropping his arms to his sides, Bane began to roll his head to his left and then the right, feeling the tension in his neck. He could hear and feel the dull popping sounds as he did so until finally there was a loud _crack!_ and a sensation of relief radiation out from the top of his neck. "To the trucks," he grunted to Zombie as he turned to face the man.

By then, Zombie was turning away from him, raising a walkie-talkie, giving the order to the men. Bird should already be in loading area of the building, having their ammunition and weapons loaded onto the trucks. In the time it took for for Bane and Zombie to descend to the ground floor and reach the loading area, preparations should already be complete.

Seeing no other reason for delay, Bane then headed for the door to the penthouse, exiting out with Zombie right behind him. Ignoring the decor, the two men headed down the hallway to the elevators.

That's when they heard it, the sound causing the two to stop and look to each other. They were familiar enough with the sound to know it in an instant. It occurred again, the blasting of gunfire, only now it was closer.

The men were discharging their weapons—why? Focusing on his hearing, Bane listened carefully when he began to make an increased frequency of gunfire. Multiple guns were being fired.

Something was wrong.

* * *

The familiar, annoying alarm of trucks backing up filled the loading area. Bird stood right by the crates of weapons, hands on his hips as he looked through the open bay doors, watching the trucks backing up. They slowed to a stop, the brakes squealing as they rubbed against metal.

"Load up!" Bird ordered, even as a frenzy of activity began from the men. Two men would pick up a crate, one on each side of the box, and began hustling it over to the trucks. This was going to be as streamline as possible. Bane would be here soon and they would have everything ready to go by the time he got there.

It was the masked man's high expectations after all.

As Bird watched, eyeing the mercenaries as they busied themselves, his eyes fell onto the trucks, causing him to frown. The back doors to the trucks were still closed. Slow ass drivers, did they always have to drag their asses to open the damn trucks? "Someone, get those doors opened," he demanded.

There were a few sideways glances from the men, but Bird didn't care. They were being paid and he was in Bane's inner circle. They would do as he said or be killed, it was that simple. As a couple of men carrying a crate reached the trucks, they set their load on the floor and got to work on opening one of the truck doors. It only took a moment for the door to go sliding upwards.

Suddenly, there was a flash of metal and the head of one of the mercenaries went flying off, hitting the floor where it went rolling. It came to a stop right in front of Bird, the man's face frozen with shock.

By the time Bird jerked his head up, he saw the other mercenary clutching at his face as he screamed, stumbling as he spun around. Even from where he stood, the blond man could see a ninja star sticking right out of his eye, blood leaking around it and dripping down the man's face.

"Fuck! An ambush!" Bird shouted and he pulled a handgun out of his holster. "Light it up!"

There was a collective dropping of crates, the sound of wood slapping down on cement echoing throughout the loading docks. Machine guns were raised and immediately fired. The mercenary with the star in his eye was mowed down by the hailstorm of bullets, causing burst of blood to explode out of him before he fell to the floor. Unconcerned, all the men continued to unload their magazines as they fired into the trucks, even the ones with the doors closed.

Several seconds went by before each and every gun had been unloaded, save for Bird's. He hadn't bothered firing since his handgun wouldn't really alter much. Surely whatever was in those trucks was Swiss cheese.

Because he was looking into the truck with the open door, he saw what happened next. A goddamn ninja dropped down into the bed, throwing his arms out in front of him. Throwing stars were sent sent flying through the air, where they collided with the hands of the mercenaries, causing the men to cry out as they dropped their guns, the stars piercing into their hands.

That was when more dropped into the bed, making Bird realize what was going on. These ninjas had been hiding at the top of the truck bed, avoiding all of the firepower they had pumped into the truck. Flooding out into the loading area, the ninjas struck back, many of them slashing or thrusting with swords, striking the closest mercenaries. Faces, arms, and chest were cut open while others were stabbed right through their bodies.

That was when Bird took aim and fired his gun. He got a ninja right in the head, dropping him where he stood. Going to a second target, he fired again, hitting this one right in the face. Onto the third, he noticed the ninja was throwing a ninja star at him.

Though he saw it, he didn't register it as he squeezed the trigger and shot the ninja, the bullet tearing through the man's neck and sending a burst of blood flying out and spattering on the floor. A moment later and the ninja star struck his gun, knocking it out of his grasp.

Yelping, Bird jumped backwards, gripping his pained hand as it throbbed. Though there was no visible injury, his gun wrenching itself out of his hand had caused his fingers to twist into awkward positions that they had no business being in.

That was when the doors to the other trucks were thrown open and more ninjas poured out. Thankfully, some of the mercenaries had reloaded their guns and were firing, taking out many of the masked men. Unfortunately, it looked as if the right side of the loading area had been taken as mercenary after mercenary were chopped down.

Reaching for his radio, Bird shoved it in front of his face as he squeezed onto the speaker button. "Attack in the loading area! We're being attacked by goddamn ninjas down here! Send backup now!"

* * *

"Lock and load, muchachos!" Horatio demanded, even as he shoved a magazine into his machine gun and pulled on the lever to ensure a bullet was in the chamber. The other four men in the room were doing the same, filling the room with armed guns.

Bird's call had just gone off through the radio. It would take several minutes to get down to the ground floor; they had to halve that time at a minimum. Seeing Jorge moving to the door to open it, Horatio moved to get behind him.

The moment Jorge opened the door, the end of a sword burst through the back of his skull, sending blood splattering all over him. Even as his comrade went limp, falling to the floor, which caused the sword to slip out of his skull, Horatio could see his attacker, all dressed in a bodysuit with goggles for eyes.

Madre de puta! The ninjas!

Because Horatio had his gun up, all he had to do was squeeze the trigger and fired a torrent of bullets. The ninja took the gunfire to the chest, flying backwards as he was riddle by bullets. Horatio didn't stop firing even as the dead man hit the wall and slid down it, leaving a blood trail on the sheetrock.

That was when the others opened fire, but instead of aiming for the door, they did it at the wall surrounding the doorway. Bullet holes rapidly appeared in the wall, the screams of more ninjas ringing out. Slipping out the empty mag and putting in a full one, again Horatio cocked the chamber and motioned to the others that he was going into the hall.

They too stopped firing then, removing their magazines regardless of whether they were partially full or empty, and reloaded. Carefully, Horatio moved to the doorway, standing to the right side of the door with the weapon at his shoulder. He aimed down the left corridor, seeing bodies lying on the floor. There were no other threats, so he darted out into the hall, twisting his body around to face the right. Again, there were only bodies.

Suddenly, something sharp bit into his neck, causing the merc to yelp. Shooting a hand up, he felt something long and thin sticking out of his throat, which he immediately yanked out. Looking at it, he found a long, black dart, yellow feathering sticking out of its butt and a thin needle at the front. Looking down at the floor, he spotted one of the ninjas, covered in his blood, and holding a blowgun in hand.

Immediately, Horatio held his gun out, pointing it right at the pendejo and fired a single shot. The ninja's head jerked backwards as blood decorated the floor, his arm going limp at his side. "Bastardo," he growled before he eyed the other ninjas. "Put bullets in them," he ordered as he moved to stand next to one, firing a shot into his head.

He heard the rest of his men do the same, just as a wave of nausea hit him. Fuck, he didn't feel well. Horatio stumbled a step, reaching out with an unsteady hand to brace himself against the wall. Crap, what had been in that dart? A moment later and he realized that just who and what he was thinking about.

Horatio fell to the floor then, the poison in his system working fast to kill him. Fuck.

* * *

He was a fool. All along, Bane had been receiving reports that his men were being ambushed by ninjas throughout the city. Not once had he considered his base of operations would be discovered and attacked. It was a mistake, possibly fatal, and one someone of his stature should never had made.

Ninjas, by their professions, were spies, and they sought out information. That they would discover where he was stationed should not be as surprising as it was. That their leader would stage an assault on them within the building spoke of his confidence in his men. This man, whomever he was, was not to be underestimated.

One such ninja was up ahead, sword in hand. Bane bull-rushed him, arms pumping at his sides as he closed the distance between them. The man stood his ground, sword held before him, ready to counter strike either before Bane attacked, or after.

The man chose before. Drawing the sword to a side, the ninja then slashed at Bane with the blade. The larger man ducked the swing, dropping down into a crouched pose as the sword passed over his head. It was just barely; after all, he was a tall man and the strike had been made for his abdomen. However, his prey was at a disadvantage with his main offensive weapon out of the way and his dominate arm across his body.

Fast as a viper, Bane sprung up, swinging a fist up. His uppercut connected with the man's chin and the force of the blow sent him flying up into the air, his head slamming and bursting through the ceiling. With the same hand, Bane opened his fist and grabbed onto one of the ninja's ankles. Pulling his arm down, he yanked the man out of the ceiling and smashed him on the floor.

Not releasing his hold, he then pulled on the leg again, this time the masked man twisting his torso to a side as he pulled his captive off the floor and swung him through the air. Due to the tight confines of the hall, his victim crashed into the wall and began tearing through it, leaving a trench in the sheetrock in his wake. By the time, Bane was facing in the opposite direction, he released his hold on the man and sent him wildly flipping through the air.

By then, another ninja emerged, storming out of a doorway just down the corridor. His careening comrade collided with him, knocking him off of his feet and sending them both falling into a pile of limbs on the floor.

That's when Bane caught sight of Zombie. The bald man had been staying right behind Bane, covering his six. When Bane had made to throw his foe, he had ducked into a crouch to avoid getting hit as well. Now he was on his feet, one of his man knives in hand. With practiced ease, he threw it, his blade sinking into the neck of the top man. A second knife embedded itself into the eye socket of the bottom man, ending their threats.

"These ninjas move fast," Zombie remarked as he faced Bane. "From the loading area to here, they have covered much distance."

"Or they simply infiltrated and the ambush at the loading docks was the signal for their attack," Bane responded. "Get ahold of Bird. I want a status report."

Immediately, Zombie had a radio in hand. "Bird, what is your status?"

Bird took a moment to reply, but respond he did. " _We've lost the loading area. We've retreated further into the warehouse and we're holding them down for now. Don't know how long we can last."_

"Help is on the way," Bane immediately stated as he turned away. Zombie would relay his words. Marching down the corridor, he soon found the stairwell to the building and shoved the door open. There was no need for door knobs or push bars, he simply struck the door with his bare hand and the lock snapped cleanly, the door swinging open. Entering the stairwell, he saw that it spiraled all the way down, a set of stairs lining opposite walls of each other with landing standing opposite the other two walls.

The sound of gunfire echoed throughout the shaft, indicating his men were fighting here as well. Looking over the railing, Bane could see movement throughout the stairs, along with brief flashes of light, indicating gunfire. Two level down, he spotted a couple of ninjas flying up the stairs, two steps at a time.

Calmly, Bane moved down the stairs before him, reaching the landing. He stopped right at the middle, one hand gripping onto the railing. His timing needed to be perfect for this.

Leaping up, he swung himself over the railing and began to fall down the shaft. He let go of the railing as he began his descent, but quickly grabbed onto the iron bar that held up the railing. His hand slid down it until the bottom side of his hand pressed down on the step.

This allowed his body to swing down and then back towards the stairs. His timing was perfect as he immediately saw a ninja on the lower landing. Legs extended, Bane rammed his feet right into the man's chest, smashing him up against the wall. He could feel bone and cartilage snap from the force of his blow, crushing his victim's chest.

As he landed on the stairs, Bane brought down the hand he had been using to grip onto the railing above, crossing it over his chest. Letting out a war cry, he swung it out, the back of his fist colliding with the second ninja's head. The man was sent flying backwards, crashing into the wall and falling into a heap on the floor.

The sound of rustling cloth caught the masked man's attention, causing him to snap his head to the other direction. On the set of ascending stairs was another ninja, one he had missed during his initial observations. The man had a handful of ninja stars in his hand, and he was going through the motion to throw them.

Immediately, Bane darted towards the man, holding an arm just before his face. A moment later and the ninja threw his stars, the metal projectiles biting into his forearm. Bane resisted the urge to hiss as there were more important things to do. He reached the ninja a heartbeat later, lashing out with his bleeding arm. The ninja leaned backwards to avoid the swipe, but that left him open as Bane swung his other fist at him, aiming low so that his punch slammed right into his foe's stomach.

Immediately, the ninja doubled over, gasping as the air was knocked out of his lungs. In an instant, Bane drew his other hand back, grabbing onto the side of the ninja's head. Without hesitation, he forced the man's head to a side, ramming it onto the railing. The railing trembled from the collision, a dull _dong_ echoing throughout the shaft. Bane pulled the man's head back and then again bashed it on the railing. Releasing his hold he then grabbed the man by his shoulder and shoved him over the railing, sending him falling down the spiraling shaft, slowly flipping over and over until he landed at the bottom.

That was when Bane paused. It was not a hesitation, only a small rest so that he could examine the throwing stars in his arm. Raising said arm, he looked at the stars sticking out, each one an even distance from the other. These men were well-trained, just as he had been told.

Reaching up, he grabbed onto one of the stairs and pulled it out, studying the craftsmanship of the projectile. It was sharp and cared for. There was no evidence of poison on the tips, so he would be fine. It was a lost opportunity for his enemy, but a stroke of fortune for him.

Another gunshot was fired and Bane glanced down the stairwell. A level down, he saw one of his men engaging a ninja, his aim just off as the assassin dodged the gunshots, then ducked back and behind the railing.

Immediately, Bane threw the ninja star he had been holding, watching long enough to see it strike the ninja in the neck and cause him to jerk out of his hiding spot. His mercenary took another shot at him, only firing once as that was all he needed, putting a bullet right in his target's head.

Yes, it was a lost opportunity for his enemy and a stroke of fortune for Bane.

* * *

The loading dock was littered with bodies, some of his own men, more were of the enemy. Ra's strolled through the mess, Ubu at his back. Talia was guarding Wonder Tower, coordinating the attack. All of his assassins had the latest in video equipment, providing continuous feed to the base.

It was clear that the Demon's Fang had secured the room. Many had taken position towards the other side of the room, positioning themselves defensively. The rest were at the door, pouring into it as they continued their assault. The sound of gunfire indicated there was still strong resistance.

"Any sign of Bane?" the Demon's Head asked.

Ubu was quick to respond. "Our men have sighted him on the upper floors. He has joined the battle."

That was to be expected. Bane had made it quite clear he was unafraid to get his own hands dirty. He was also shrewd if his pursuit of the Detective was any indication. He was not an opponent to take lightly.

The ambushes his men had been performing the last few nights had been tests, attempts to understand the enemy's tactics, strengths, and weaknesses. Bane's men had demonstrated that they were not accustomed to being attacked, though they were quick to retaliate when provoked. Stealth was key, luring them into a trap, and stabbing them in the back. Striking at their own base of operations would be something they did not expect.

Suddenly, a burst of flames flew through the doorway, the screams of men burning echoing throughout the loading docks. Ra's looked on dispassionately. Hmm, it seemed there were flamethrowers present.

"Ubu, call in the second wave," he ordered.

"At once, Master."

* * *

The sound of wet footsteps reached Bane's ears. The reason for this was because of the blood clinging to the bottom of his boots, leaving red footprints in his wake.

He had at last reached the bottom floor, breaking and slaughtering all who came before him. He had taken some hits as a few lines of blood decorated his bare arms. These attackers were capable with their swords and throwing stars. Allowing a nick was preferable to a more serious injury.

Shoving open the doorway to leave the stairwell, Bane found his weapons dump, the crates of ammunition, guns, and explosives neatly stacked along the walls. Some of the crates were opened, recently too if he wasn't mistaken. As he walked by one, Bane couldn't help but take note that a flamethrower had been removed.

That's when he heard it, the sound of crackling flames. Picking up his pace, he reached a door and flung it open.

On the other side were a small handful of his men—too few for his tastes. At the front was a man wearing a gasoline tank, which was connected to a nozzle. An open flame was being fired into the doorway in front of the man, a constant stream pouring from it.

Close to the front was Bird, clutching at his radio with one hand, and a machine gun in the other. None too gently, Bane forced his way to the Gothamite, shoving his own men aside. After the first two, the rest parted to either side of him, pressing themselves up against the walls of the corridor.

"Bird," his voice rumbled, which caused the blond-haired man to snap his head towards him.

"Bane!" he exclaimed, his eyes giving him a once-over. "It's a Goddamn mess down here. We—"

"Are under attack," the masked man finished for him. "They are crawling all over the building. What is the status ahead?"

"The loading docks are theirs, whoever the hell they are. They were pushing us back pretty damn good until Victor here pulled out the flamethrower. It's holding them off for now, but it'll be another story when the gas tank runs out."

Yes, it would. "Tell Victor to stop," he ordered as he raised his hands up, cracking the knuckles of one hand with the other, then repeating the gesture with the opposite hands.

Bird stared at him, mouth agape, but he got the message. Shoving his radio into a pocket, he then grabbed Victor by the shoulder and shook him hard to get his attention. The moment the man turned his head to look at them, Bird moved his hand back and held it flat in front of his neck, jerking it back and forth. "Kill it!" he shouted for emphasis.

Immediately, Victor stopped squeezing the trigger and shifted to a side, allowing Bane to storm right by him. Passing through the singed doorway, the masked man entered another hallway, one that had small flames licking from the walls. On the floor were the charred corpses of the attackers, which Bane paid little mind too. The smell of burnt flesh and smoke were hard to ignore, but he did not allow it to bother him.

By the time he reached the entrance to the loading area, a ninja had appeared in the doorway. Rushing him, Bane drew a fist back and threw it a moment later. His blow slammed into the man's face, sending him flying backwards through the air.

This cleared the way for him to enter the loading area. Immediately, two ninjas came charging at him from his left and right. It only took an instant for Bane to identify the man on the right was faster than his counterpart on his left. Both held swords above their heads, mirror images of each other.

Immediately, Bane tilted himself to face the ninja on his right. He waited a brief moment before he slid to his left and further into the room, just in time to avoid the vertical slash from his foe. Due to his momentum, the ninja sailed right by Bane, ending him as the immediate threat.

Putting all of his weight on one foot, Bane leaned forward even as he twisted his head to look behind him. With his other leg, he lashed out with it, delivering a back kick right to the face of the second charging ninja. The blow caused the man's head to snap backwards, the rest of his body following suit.

Bringing his leg down, Bane then spun around to face both of his foes, one dazed while the other was turning to meet him again. Holding both of his arms to one side, one at his side while the other crossed over his chest, he then swung his crossed arm out in an attempted backhand blow. The alert ninja pulled back to avoid the blow, just as Bane planned. He hadn't expected to hit anyone with the first strike, not that it would've done anything of note.

That's when he unleashed his other fist, throwing it right at the dazed ninja. His fist slammed right into the man's chest and sent him flying back into the wall, his body going limp an instant after crashing into it, then falling to the floor in a heap.

That's when the remaining ninja attempted another sword strike, aiming for his extended arm. Bane immediately snatched it back, avoiding the slash. Then he shot out both arms, one hand latching onto the man's sword arm to prevent another attack while the other wrapped around his neck.

Sure he had a good grip with both hands, Bane yanked the ninja off the floor and towards him, even as he leaned backwards and craning his head back. Then all at once, he threw his head forward, headbutting the ninja. There was a brief spasm of pain in Bane's forehead, but he ignored it as his foe cringed from the blow. Letting go of his neck, the larger man quickly moved his hand down to the ninja's waist, grabbed a handful of the bodysuit and then lifted the man above his head. He then threw his opponent through the air.

Ignoring where the ninja landed, Bane then turned his attention to one that was charging right at him from behind. Whipping around, Bane leaped backwards to avoid the sword slashing towards him. Quickly, his arms were darting out again, one to block a backswing by the sword arm with his forearm, the other hand grabbing onto the ninja by the back of his head. Pulling on the man's head and forcing it downward, Bane brought up his knee, just in time to ram it right into the man's face.

Pulling the man's head back, Bane then moved his defensive arm back before he threw it forward, his fist smashing into his foe's face, the familiar sensation of cartilage snapping beneath his knuckles vibrating up his arm. The ninja dropped his sword as his hands went up to his nose. Bane then shoved the man away.

That's when he saw him. Though there were a few more potential foes closer to him, Bane could not help himself as his attention drew away from them. Standing a moderate distance away was a man in a green cloak, his dark hair colored with white at his temples. this man watched him dispassionate, not the least bit concerned with the resistance Bane retaliated with. Bane did not know who this person was, but he was certain this was his true enemy, the one that had launched this attack on his headquarters.

Of course, that was when reinforcements arrived.

Unfortunately, they were not Bane's men. Instead, more of the ninjas emerged through the open doors to the loading dock. At first he had been expecting more swords and throwing stars, but these ninjas held automatic weapons. A line was quickly formed with the masked men taking a knee as they held their guns at shoulder height, taking aim. A second line formed behind them, these men standing and also taking aim with their weapons.

This was an unfortunate turn of events.

Immediately, Bane spun around and charged towards the open doorway. He got two, perhaps three steps before he heard an unholy roar of machine gun fire. Pain burned into his right shoulder, along with a couple spots on his upper back. A moment later and he was diving through the doorway, hitting the floor as even more bullets raced above him.

Ignoring the pain, Bane began crawling along the floor, even as the barrage of lead ended. The moment he reached the door at the end of the long corridor, he pushed himself upward and shoved the door open. Passing through the threshold, he then shoved it closed behind him.

"Jesus!" Bird exclaimed as he looked at the larger man. "What the hell happened?"

"We are retreating," Bane told him coolly. "This place is lost. Give out the command. We will rendezvous at the secondary site."

Bird stared at him. "Are you sure?"

"Unless you wish to die, I am. There is no point losing anymore manpower here." At this, Bane began shoving his way through what was left of his men. They all seemed shell shocked by his order, but the sound of their footsteps following him informed him they would comply. Even now, he could hear Bird issuing the retreat over his radio.

Though he had given the command, Bane could taste the bitterness of those words on his tongue. He hadn't planned on this sort of loss. Perhaps if the police had stiffened up their resistance, it was possible they would've found this place, but that would've been much later in his conquest, making this building's importance an acceptable loss.

However, this new force was more powerful than he had anticipated. They had found and taken his headquarters, forcing him out into the cold. This wasn't supposed to happen.

His hands clenched into fists. It was now imperative that he learn everything there was to know about this force and the man in the green cloak. He needed to know who he was, what he was capable of, and most importantly what his objective was. It was clear he was at odds with Bane and his ambitions. Now he needed to understand why.

For now, survival was his primary objective.


	21. The Noose Tightens

The past few days and nights had been tough ones. Between skirmishes with Bane's forces, their investigation into the Monster Man and Hugo Strange, and routine patrols in-between, along with their healing injuries from all of the above, it was like there was no time for any of the vigilantes in Gotham.

Then the call from Oracle came in.

While his ribs were still healing, they were much better now, though he needed to be careful. Some time away from the streets to hear the scoop on what their Santa Prisca team had found out was more than welcome for Nightwing. At least now they would have a better idea of what they were up against.

He wasn't the first to arrive at the Bat-bunker, but he wasn't the last. Huntress and Green Arrow had been early, the latter filled with a tense energy that had never left him for the past few days. He was a bit surprised to see that Bluebird had beaten him here, and moving around the table to take their seats were the two members of the Birds of Prey, Katana and Manhunter.

Behind him, Spoiler popped in and almost ran into him. She gave a brief apology, expressing hopefully that she wasn't late. He dismissed it; they were just getting started anyway. Wait, hold up, they were missing someone…

Oh yeah, Red Hood. It wasn't really surprising, but he was a bit concerned. Again, over the past few days, he had been noticing something about the younger man. Jason was also antsy, but Nightwing had a feeling that it wasn't because he was concerned about their away team. He was having some trouble figuring out what it was.

If he didn't know any better, he would have thought that Red Hood was chafing for some reason. Not literally, of course, but figuratively.

So long as it wasn't a problem, he'd keep his nose out of it. In the meantime, he was going to take his seat and wait for this party to start.

A little more than ten minutes later and he was still waiting, along with everyone else who were really starting to wonder where Hood was. This was not the time to be "fashionably late;" yet, at the same time, it would be more disruptive if the guy barged in while Oracle was giving them the briefing.

Finally, the last of their little Network strolled in, moving as if he wasn't late or anything, which he kinda was. Nightwing found himself giving Red Hood a look, but the younger male didn't look the least bit affected by it. Taking a chair and spinning it around, the younger vigilante sat in it backwards, arms resting on top of the chair as his legs straddled the back.

Deciding not to let that stall things, he said aloud, "Alright, we're all here. What's the scoop, Oracle?"

From the center of the table, the holographic, digital head that Barbara used as Oracle appeared, a standby until it was replaced with whatever images the hacker felt was important. " _I have received word from our Santa Prisca operation. It was a success, people._ "

Almost instantly, the mood lightened. That was great! Another success to the Network and with something none of them had ever done before. Looks like Black Canary, Red Robin, and their team had pulled it off.

"What did they find out?" Huntress asked, and it was hard not to hear her eagerness. Then again, everyone was sitting forward, leaning in to better learn what it was they were up against. In Green Arrow's case, the man relaxed somewhat.

" _I'm gonna have to take us on a quick history lesson first, but it will make sense_ ," Oracle began. " _This all starts a few decades ago. Santa Prisca was ruled by a military junta that was watching what happened in Cuba and was getting really nervous._ " Oracle's digital head was replaced by old black-and-white pictures, most likely those relevant to Santa Prisca. There were images of soldiers, guerillas, and warfare. " _Naturally, when the communists tried the same thing they did in Cuba, well, the Santa Prisca military took it on and took it down_ _—brutally. Those they didn't kill, they paraded in front of a kangaroo court. All guilty, all sentenced to life in prison, or death._ "

"So where does Bane come in all this?" Manhunter demanded.

The pictures of conflict were now replaced with that of a large building, most likely Peña Duro itself. " _One of the leaders of the failed revolution managed to get away, but before he did he impregnated a local. She was caught and dragged in front of the court where they ruled that if she gave birth to a girl, they would both be released, but if she gave birth to a boy, then he would have to serve his father's_ life _sentence._ "

"That's messed up!" Spoiler exclaimed.

"What the hell kind of place is this?" Manhunter again, and she sounded pissed.

" _A very medieval society with some very conservative views on crime and punishment. Well, not to take Spoiler's little catchphrase, but spoiler alert, the baby was a boy and that baby was Bane."_

"Insane," Huntress stated.

" _Basically, Bane grew up in_ _Peña Duro. By the age of ten, he had committed his first murder. By the time he was twenty-five, he was the top dog there, and we all know what kind of a hellhole that place is. This man is a brutal killer, raised by the worst of the worst._ " Now they were seeing images of various dead men, many of them bloody. It was hard to tell if they stabbed, or simply beaten to death.

"Where does Venom come into all this?" Nightwing asked.

" _Venom is a domestic product, meaning it was made here. The U.S. government was really interested in it and wanted to use it to upgrade our men and women overseas, but first, they needed to make sure it was safe. Since Santa Prisca has been a staunch ally of ours, despite it's horrible human rights record, it was to them that the Pentagon went to to propose Project Gilgamesh. Sucking up to us, Santa Prisca agreed and even recommended_ _Peña Duro as a place to conduct the tests._

" _This was all done in secret. The Pentagon didn't want another embarrassment like Abu Ghraib_ , _so they went the extra mile in secrecy. Fortunately, our team managed to find out what happened in Gilgamesh. To make a long story short, a lot of people died as they were used as human guinea pigs. Then Bane shows up on their table and he survives._ "

Not really a surprise there since only a couple weeks ago they met the man face to face.

" _When he doesn't die from the initial injections, they went into phase two where they drilled holes in his skull and put in implants. Thanks to those, he can directly feed Venom into his bloodstream, and that stuff is really potent. Increased strength, speed, stamina, and all of that to nearly superhuman levels. He becomes a juggernaut, unstoppable. Thanks to all that, Bane escapes from_ _Peña Duro, and from there became a freelance assassin. The price for his jobs: five million, American._ "

"So he gets this incredible strength...and then cashes in on it. That doesn't sound like the guy we faced," Green Arrow commented.

" _Because he saved all that money to launch a coup of his own against the military junta, and he succeeds at overthrowing it. For all intents and purposes,_ he _is the one in charge of Santa Prisca now. Anyone in a position of power, he owns them. He turned_ _Peña Duro into a factory to make even more Venom. And on top of all that, he cut some deals with the U.S. to get his hands on our military hardware in exchange for staying as an ally in opposition to Russia and China. That's why he has American weapons; they're part of an international arms deal._ "

"But, if he's in charge of this island, why is he here in Gotham? Attacking his 'ally?'" Nightwing asked. This...this was a lot of information to take in.

" _He never stopped his assassin business. He still takes jobs. It took me some time, but I found that there was a job offer that came from Gotham. It wasn't in traceable currency, but the person involved with the transaction had a association with the late Rupert Thorne._ "

"Thorne hired him. And even though Two-Face killed him, Bane's set on fulfilling his end of the contract," Nightwing summed up. "But he already beat Batman, and last any of us knew, Batman wasn't dead. So...it can't be an assassin honoring a contract."

"I don't think figuring out Bane's reasons for being in Gotham are going to help us," Green Arrow cut in. "What I'm more interested in is the Venom. That stuff is a super steroid, right? What are the side-effects, other than the super-strength? Putting stuff like that in your body has to have some downsides."

" _You're right, Arrow,_ " Oracle confirmed. " _From what our team gathered, Venom has some severe withdrawal effects. If Bane wants to avoid them, he has to constantly take Venom, about once every twelve hours. Otherwise, imagine what heroin withdrawal looks like and increase the chances of death by almost double._ "

"That's his weakness!" Huntress exclaimed, slapping a hand on the table. "That's what we have to attack. We have to attack his Venom."

" _There's some good news about that. Before our team made their getaway, they trashed the factory. It'll be some time until another can be up and running. Also, whatever they had in storage was also destroyed. Pretty much, what Bane has with him is all he'll have._ "

"Which means we will have to find out where he's keeping it all," Manhunter remarked.

"If he's smart, and we know that for a fact, he'll spread it out, not keep it all in one place," Nightwing pointed out. "He'll have to have stashes, like with his weapons. If we can cut him off, then it's only a matter of time, twelve hours minimum before he's done."

"But how are we going to find these stashes?" Red Hood spoke up. "Wouldn't it be easier to make him use his Venom up?"

"Way too dangerous. We don't even know if he was using it when we fought him, and remember, he kicked out asses," the older vigilante stated. "If he wasn't, that scares the shit out of me."

"Wouldn't his men know?" Bluebird asked. "I mean, they know where all the guns are stashed. Why not the Venom in case their boss needs it, but can't get it himself?"

"Guess we'll have to get our hands on some of Bane's men and interrogate them," Green Arrow remarked. "That shouldn't be too hard."

"Getting them to talk isn't easy. They are incredibly loyal to their cause. They are not ones to break under pressure," Katana stated.

"Then I guess we'll have to do our best Batman impressions and make them sing, one way or another," Nightwing said. "The sooner we cut Bane off from his wonder drug, the sooner we take him down." He heard a snort from Red Hood, and maybe something said under his breath. Obviously the teen didn't agree, but he knew well enough that he would be overruled.

As much as it would be easy to rush in headfirst, they had tried that and failed. Now they would be playing it smart and be careful about it.

It was the only option that offered any kind of hope for them.

* * *

The bodies were the dead giveaway. As the Commissioner gazed down at them like an exterminator would a cockroach, he went over the facts he had available to him at this time.

The corpses were those of Bane's forces. The gashes, the cuts, and the wounds all pointed to sharp weapons, such as knives, to be the murder weapons. Others had bullet wounds, meaning guns had also been used. The total destruction pointed at a coordinated attack, and one that was perpetrated against Bane rather than by Bane.

The obvious conclusion was that there was someone else getting involved. Someone who used violent methods and could play on Bane's level. Summing it up, this was not good. After the mob war between Two-Face and Arkham's Black Mask, Gordon knew where this kind of things led to and it was always bloody.

They couldn't afford another front in this war.

"Christ," Petit swore as he came up to the Commissioner's side, decked out in SWAT gear. "It's like a war zone. There's bodies and blood everywhere."

"We need to find who is responsible for this. We can't allow anyone capable of this to roam our streets, not when we still have to deal with Bane," Gordon said as he continued to stare at the scene. In spite of this mess, they could not forget about that masked menace.

"So far, he is unaccounted for," Sarah reported as she approached the pair. "We would only be so lucky if he was. Knowing his type, he got out of here as soon as he could."

"We can only assume he's still out there until proven otherwise," the white-haired man agreed.

"And until we get our hands on him, how are we going to deal with this?" Petit asked, gesturing to all the bodies. "We all know there's going to be more. This kind of things doesn't happen once and stops. There's going to be escalation like last time."

Huh, Petit was thinking the same as him. Didn't change anything about it being right.

Of course, Petit didn't stop there. "I don't think we have the kind of manpower we need to handle it. We're stretched enough as it is."

"I think we're all ears if you have any ideas," Sarah said, giving Petit a pointed look. You could see how this mess was taking its toll on her. It made the Commissioner reflect on what he must look like. Like their entire force, everyone was stretched to their limit.

"Unless someone here is a master tactician, I don't know if anything short of martial law that would be of any help," Petit shrugged back. The man had some thick skin, not about to let anyone's frustration get to him. Whether that was for the time being, or merely out of professionalism, remained to be seen.

Still, those were two words that made Gordon pause: martial law. While it wouldn't change anything about their manpower, it would affect their authority. Martial law would grant expanded powers that would allow them to suspend the laws of both the city and the country, including civil rights and _habeas corpus_. They could institute curfews, apprehend anyone whom they had the slightest suspicion of committing a crime, and hold prisoners indefinitely until this crisis had passed.

But the moment martial law was declared, the eyes of the country would be on them, watching them. One wrong move and it would fall to pieces once everything was over, especially in the current political climate.

Yet, with the way things were, wasn't it an option that should be considered?

Sarah was giving him a look now, and it was one he wasn't able to read. It disturbed him in a way that he couldn't describe. He would speak with her about it later, but for the moment, he needed to say something.

"That's up to the Mayor to decide. We need this whole place cordoned off, no one sets foot on it, not until we have everything we need. Go to the manager, the owner, or whoever and see if we can't get this all locked down. And for God's sake, let's try to keep this from getting leaked. We don't want the press to start whipping everyone into a panic about, I don't know, some army of murderous vigilantes taking the fight to Bane."

"Wouldn't that make sense?" Petit asked, looking at him. "It wouldn't be the first time there was a vigilante who went about killing people."

"We don't need to be giving people any ideas on taking the law into their own hands, not when it will get them killed," Sarah replied immediately.

"Martial law would nip that in the bud," Petit replied coolly.

"Again, that's for the Mayor to decide. Just do your job and get this secured," Gordon cut in.

Still, the thoughts of martial law weren't as quick to be dismissed. It wasn't like they could look to Batman now. The Dark Knight knew what he was doing, unlike an amateur. For anyone else, getting involved in the vigilante trade would be tantamount to suicide. He wasn't blind to the fact that there would be people trying to live up to the Batman's legacy, but these were different times now.

These were times they better adapt to, or otherwise they would lose Gotham.

* * *

These people were a joke.

It had been building for weeks now. Ever since Jason got involved with these vigilante people, he had found them to be chickens, cowards, worthless crybabies that didn't know a good time to strike if it bit them on the ass.

This was not the life he had imagined when he first got in with the Batclan. _Pfft, Batclan._ What asshole thought of that name? They didn't do the Bat justice with their pussyfooting. The Bat kicked ass. He terrorized punks on a night basis. He saved the city on guts and determination.

What did the Batclan do? They spent countless hours in some rat hole dojo training. They went by rules that made zero sense.

As if to add insult to it all, so did the more experienced vigilantes. They had a damn weapon stash and what did that punk archer want to do? He wanted to wait and watch _and then_ go beat people up. Why were they making this difficult? They should have gone in, beat the shit out of those mercenary guys, and call it a day. What was so hard about that?

This Network thing, it was making crime fighting harder than it had to be. You didn't just run some stupid ass committee when everyone and their demented grandma knew what needed to be done. Bad guys needed their asses kicked; their leader needed the shit kicked out of him so that he knew his place. That's what needed to be happening, should be happening.

What did these people think they were doing? Did they want to save the city, or did they want Bane to bend them over a table and keep fucking them? Cause that was exactly what was going on. Now, Jason knew from firsthand experience that Bane was a badass. He was willing to admit that. One hit had taken him out of the fight, so he could get why they needed to be careful around him. But his thugs weren't him, they weren't Bane. They were small fry and they should be treated as such, not as people on Bane's level.

Now though, they had a weakness on that muscled freak. He was a junkie with a very deadly addiction. It didn't take rocket science to know they needed to find this Venom stuff and destroy it. But what were they doing? They were trying to take things slow and be safe.

Being a hero wasn't about being safe. It was about saving the day no matter what.

It was starting to become clear to Jason that maybe these were the wrong people to fight for Gotham. Sure, they knew how to fight, he'd give them that. But hey, he knew how to fight too. They just had several years of that karate stuff, that jujutsu shit, under their belts. That's the only reason they could beat on him and they knew it.

How many Blackgate punks had he helped bring in? How many creeps had he pointed out to that dick Nightwing and his backup dancers? They sure as hell didn't know where those people were, but he had. Those cons were back in jail because of him.

It was about time he got respect for that.

Jason could feel the scowl on his face. That's right, these people had been disrespecting him since he joined them. While he was used to people disrespecting him, he soon showed them just how bad they screwed up doing so. He just needed to show these wannabe vigilantes the same thing.

There was going to be another bust coming. There would be something crazy like the Monster Man wrecking shit in Gotham sooner rather than later. Those were opportunities, ones he needed to make sure he showed his stuff.

However, there was the possibility these people wouldn't recognize his potential. They might chalk it up to beginner's luck, or some shit. They'd probably warn him not to get a big head, or to not drop his guard, or a whole bunch of other cliches.

God, he was frustrated. He hadn't felt this way in his life ever. Now it was constant, happening on a daily basis. That pissed him off more than anything.

That needed to change.

Again, he would get his opportunities. They were just a matter of time. Everyone would respect the Red Hood and they would do so with the same awe they gave the Batman. Even if he had to strike out on his own, he would show this entire city there was someone with the balls to stand up to bad guys.

And then he'd be the top badass in the city.

* * *

It had taken more time than was acceptable, but finally, the Phantasm had located Strange's safe house. A reckoning was at hand and the man who had a key role in its creation would finally answer for his crimes.

Jimmying the lock at the backdoor, the hooded killer entered the building and began its search of the place. The kitchen was devoid of life, though it had signs of being used. It was much too clean to be ignored or neglected. With soft footsteps, the Phantasm trekked further into this domestic lair, its blade ready to strike out at a second's notice.

Finding a living room, it was here that it found signs of activity, though no sign of Hugo Strange. It looked like a workstation had been set up along the west side of the rectangular room, a long counter-like table stretching out against the length of one of the walls. Interestingly, but not surprisingly, there was an assortment of beakers and burners, a chemistry set in summary. This did not fit with the killer's memory of the shrink.

Papers also littered the workstation, but for the moment they would be ignored in favor of canvasing the rest of this room. Moving around a couch that was placed in front of a television, it observed a naked mannequin of all things, and a basket of various clothes and materials. On a small coffee table, sewing instruments were spotted. This made less sense than the chemistry equipment.

What was happening in this place?

Leaving the living room, the Phantasm resumed its search, heading up into the second story and looking for any signs of its quarry. Other than the signs that this place was lived in, no one was here. It was slightly frustrating that its justice would be delayed, but it had been patient this long. What was another hour or so?

Returning to the ground floor, the masked assassin stepped back into the living room where the greatest evidence of life was located. Taking a second look, it picked up on other things, such as discarded takeout boxes. Naturally, all were in a wastebasket as was expected with a mind such as Strange's.

Which made those papers strewn all over Strange's worktable puzzling. The man was very neat and liked to keep everything in order. The sewing equipment minus the mannequin was kept in close proximity. The chemistry equipment had an order to it as well, certain beakers placed in certain areas based on their contents, lack of contents, and their state of cleanliness. Some liquids were separated from one another, most likely because of their combustible natures, or because that's where the shrink wanted them placed.

Still, it was the papers that seemed haphazardly placed that captured the killer's attention. Even if they were placed deliberately where they were, it went against what it knew of Strange's nature. Had the man caught on that he was being hunted? The sudden death of a False Face associate would be highly suspect, especially if Strange had kept in touch with all of them.

It was in Strange's character to run. That's what he had done during the fallout of Operation Dread and Black Mask's disappearance. For all his confidence in his own brilliance, he had very little faith in those he felt he could manipulate. When worst came to worst, he would throw his pawns into the fire and flee like a coward.

If that's what was happening now…

It was best to see what the contents of these papers were. Perhaps it would be able to divine Strange's latest scheme.

Picking up a handful of the papers, the Phantasm began skimming them, shuffling sheet after sheet. Hmm, these were chemical equations, but other than that, the Phantasm wasn't able to puzzle out what they were for. It appeared Strange had picked up a new trade, which would explain the chemistry set. But what was he making? These equations were the key to it without a doubt.

Continuing to search through the other papers, it wasn't able to find out much else. Just more notes on certain chemicals, more equations, etc. However, there was one paper that stuck out, and that was because it was a list of places and addresses.

The Gotham Museum of Art. Wayne Enterprises, Main Branch. 58 Dickens Avenue—which was crossed out. The Jezebel Theater. A.C.E. Chemicals—crossed out. Arkham Asylum—crossed out. Sionis Steel Mill—also crossed out. The Duchess Hotel. Powers Hotel—crossed out. Gotham Cathedral—crossed out. 664 San Angeles Boulevard.

What were the meanings to these locations? It was very...random. Why were some addresses and others the names? Why was this list placed among the notes of chemistry research? Something wasn't adding up.

Wait, there were also papers on the coffee table along with the sewing tools. They had also been ignored earlier when it did its first look around.

Moving over to the coffee table and snatching the papers up, the Phantasm identified a design, no, a plan. This was what Strange was crafting. It looked like a suit or a...costume. A very familiar costume, one that looked almost identical to…

Eyes narrowed behind the stoic mask and darted back to the list of locations and addresses. Those places...there was a connection between at least three of them that the Phantasm was able to identify. But what if they all had the same common denominator?

And with Strange not here…

He had to be at one of those places. But which one?

A noise broke through its thoughts, and the killer's attention was directed towards the DVR. Something was being recorded. It was easy enough to find out what it was; it just needed to learn what channel was being recorded. Turning the television on, there was a news broadcast that was starting. The anchor, Jack Ryan, was touching on a few topics that were going to be covered, one of which…

...was on the list.

That vain, son of a bitch. Whatever he was planning was happening tonight.

How very fortunate.


	22. Heroes From The Skies

The breeze was cool. It felt rather good as it brushed through his hair.

The ribs weren't so bad. It was a little easier to breath. Still, his posture could be better. Crouching on the edge of a roof wasn't the most comfortable of positions.

After all that Barbara had told them about Bane, there was a lot to digest. Just when you thought you had a handle on this mess, it sprung a few more leaks.

Nightwing looked out into the city, watching the hustle and bustle far below. There weren't as many people as usual and that could be attributed to the chaos that seemed to strike on a nightly basis. The young man was quite certain the only people that were out and about right now were desperate, willing to take the chance at getting food, or gas, or whatever it was they needed. Even now many were looking over their shoulders, on high alert for the stray bullet with their name on it.

"I thought I'd find you out here."

Nightwing looked over his shoulder. Standing by the open door to the roof access was Huntress, the dark-haired woman coolly gazing at him. He didn't respond to her, merely content to looking at her. Eventually she began to walk towards him. "You know, it's not a good idea to be all by yourself out here. There's too many people out there looking to kill you."

"That's every night," he retorted as he returned his attention back to the city. "That part hasn't changed at all."

"Yes it has." By then, Huntress was standing behind and to his right, also looking out into the night. "You've elevated yourself into a leadership role. You can't take unnecessary risks now."

That caused the young vigilante to raise an eyebrow, though she couldn't see it since he wasn't facing her. "I'm pretty sure everyone would carry on just fine if I wasn't available."

There was a moment of silence before he heard Huntress shift. "You're the one that came up with the Network; this is your baby. In case you haven't noticed, we've all been deferring to you since we came together."

That gave Nightwing pause. He really hadn't noticed that. In fact, he had thought Huntress, or Black Canary, or any of the Birds ran their little meetings. It seemed like he really needed to pay more attention. Still, they were the more experienced vigilantes. They were Bat-approved after all. That said more than him suggesting the vigilantes join forces.

"Why aren't you leading things then?" he asked, finally looking to the purple-clad woman. "You're the one that's been at Batman's side the last few years. If there's anyone qualified to be leading us, it's you."

"I would be, but again, this wasn't my idea," she immediately answered. "It's yours. Look, I have some respect for you, just like I do for everyone that's putting their neck on the line. Right now, I'm sitting back and letting you run things. You're not doing that bad of a job, honestly."

"Thanks, I guess."

"Now tell me what you're doing out here instead of resting those ribs of yours in the Bat-bunker."

"Truthfully, I just wanted some fresh air. I needed a moment away so I can get my head on straight. All that stuff on Bane, man, it's just...a lot."

And it truly was. Born in a prison for a crime he had no earthly way of committing, surviving against the worst of humanity, being handpicked for human experimentation; it was a lot to digest. It was no wonder that guy went up against the Bat and won. He was a battle-hardened warrior.

It was also why they didn't stand a chance when the Network took him head on.

Huntress was quiet again, probably absorbing the mood. "I'll stay up here with you. The breeze is nice," she ended up saying.

Nightwing would've grunted his acceptance, but didn't bother too. The cool air, the night itself, was nice.

That was until he felt an odd gust of wind brush up against him.

With a slight tilt of his head, Nightwing looked right to Huntress. The purple-clad woman had a hardened look on her face, telling him she had felt it too. There was someone else on the roof with them, standing behind them.

They held their stances for a moment. Then simultaneously, they spun around, Nightwing rising up to his feet as he held his fists at his side.

They immediately came to a stop, their eyes widening. While they had known they weren't alone on this roof, they certainly weren't expecting the company they found. They weren't even on the roof, floating— _floating_ —above it instead.

And if that wasn't enough, the big red S told them exactly who it was.

* * *

Bane was not unfamiliar to being hunted.

When he rose from his station to take over Peña Duro, many an inmate, guard, and warden had attempted to tear him down. There had been a few close calls, but he had risen above their challenges, crushing them beneath his heel.

Now though, now there was a true hunter giving him chase. Upon review of the attack on his former headquarters, it had become quite obvious just how thoroughly planned the attack had been. Every detail had been designed for maximum efficiency and effectiveness. The fact that such a plan had been drawn up and executed in such a short time was not lost on him.

All of this was both thrilling and worrisome at the same time.

It was not a common occurrence that Bane had his mask off, but such a time was now. He was naked from his waist up, bandages decorating his arms and back from the wounds he had received. He was leaning forward in his chair, elbows propped up against his legs, hands clasped together just below his chin. His brutish features were twisted with dark thoughts, eyes narrowed, expression stony. The dimly lit room was fitting to his mood, allowing himself to bath in shadows.

The man in the green cloak was experienced, that much he had learned during his ruminations. As mentioned before, he had calculated every move, every tactic to the point Bane was forced to issue a retreat. Following that line of thinking, it was safe to assume that the prior ambushes by the assassins were small tests, feints to gather intelligence on his men.

Bane was not one to forgo losing numbers to achieve his objective. A wake of corpses followed him wherever he went. This man, however, put that practice into the realm of art. He was willing to send his men to die, sacrificing pawns for check. In fact, checkmate had come so quickly, Bane hadn't realized he had been in check until it was far too late.

This man was a worthy foe.

To attempt replicating the tactics already used was foolhardy. No doubt this man would have planned to have his own base attacked at a moment's notice, expecting Bane to copy his efforts. While that was a goal, now was not the time for it. He did not know the man's full capabilities and not knowing that would be costly. No, a different tact will be necessary.

When one was trying to kill a snake, the best approach was to cut its head off. That would be the best approach here. He needed to draw this man out, corner him, and then end his threat by any means necessary.

Of course, this was easier said than done. Bane was willing to bet the man in the green cloak was not one to stick his neck out unless it was necessary. There were very few causes for him to do so, not with Bane on the run. The fact he had been in the loading area spoke to his confidence in the attack's success, or anticipated success. Such an occurrence would not occur again without more certainty.

Bait would be needed, but not just any. It had to be the correct bait, something worthy of the man's attention. Considering the attack on Bane's former base, there was only one that he could think of.

Straightening out his posture, Bane then reached to a little side table next to his chair. His mask had laid there discarded, right until the large man snatched it up. With practiced ease, he slid the mask on, his true face sliding into place.

Standing up, he moved around the chair and stormed to the door. Opening it, he entered a dilapidated hallway. This new base was an abandoned apartment complex, one that he had seized early on upon his arrival in Gotham. Traveling the halls, the wooden planks creaking with every step he took, he soon reached a staircase. Climbing down them, he soon reached the bottom floor and spotted his men hard at work, organizing their supplies and weaponry.

Bird and Zombie were coordinating their efforts. Immediately, Bane moved right up to them, his presence immediately causing both men to turn to face him.

"Zombie, Bird," he addressed them. "I need to get a message out."

"What kind of message are we talking about?" Bird immediately questioned. "And to who?"

"Our new foes," Bane answered succinctly. "We need to draw them out."

"Are you sure about this?" Zombie asked. "We are just recovering from their previous assault. We aren't even sure what firepower we have available."

"Our main threat is these ninjas and their leader. All of our successes will amount to nothing as long as they are hounding our every step," Bane replied, steadfast in his conviction. "They must be dealt with as quickly as possible."

"Well, it would help if we knew where they were hiding," Bird pointed out. "But like you said, these are ninjas. They specialize in hiding. They could be in the damn building and we wouldn't know."

That was a valid point, one that was currently being combated with roaming patrols throughout the apartment complex. They would not be caught by surprise again. "If we cannot narrow the delivery of our message, then we must project it."

Bird's eyes widened. "You mean send it out to the entire city? That's crazy! The cops may be dumb in this town, but they're not so dumb that they'll miss a clearly worded message!"

Zombie was quiet at this moment, which Bane paid attention to. If there was one person that could see his will done, it would be this man. "It is a difficult proposition, but I believe we can make it work," he said after awhile. "We will need to draw all ancillary attention away from the true message, but it can be done."

That was the answer he wanted to hear. "How soon can we get it out?"

Zombie turned away from the larger man, his gaze searching the room before he found what he was looking for. Immediately, he headed for a corner of the room, snatching up a laptop computer and turned it on. As it booted up, Bane and Bird moved towards the bald man, coming to stand before him. "The sooner we release your message, the better," Zombie murmured to himself as his fingers tapped on the keyboard. "It'll be obvious it is a trap, but if we…" he trailed off.

There were ideas forming in Zombie's head, that much Bane was certain of. He would have confidence in his lieutenant and that faith would be rewarded. After all, the man hadn't let him down yet.

If he wanted to continue living, he would see that he was still useful to Bane.

* * *

It was something out of a dream. Here, before him, was Superman. He was floating above the roof like a benevolent god, his face kind and peaceful.

And then there was another. If Nightwing's eyes weren't large enough, they found a new size. Drifting out from behind the Man of Steel was perhaps the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Black hair waved in the air as her blue eyes twinkled with what was best described as joy. Considering her uniform practically matched Superman's and Nightwing had to assume this was Wonder Woman.

No wonder everyone called them the Power Couple.

There was a prolonged, probably uncomfortable silence between the four of them. Nightwing really didn't notice since he was too stunned to speak.

"I believe this is the first time we've met," Superman said, ultimately breaking the silence. "I'm Superman."

"We gathered," Huntress responded, not losing any bit of her snarky personality. She straightened out her posture, holding herself straighter. Gesturing with one hand towards Wonder Woman, she then added, "And you're Wonder Woman, right?"

The Amazon nodded her confirmation. "I am. It's a pleasure to meet people that fight for this city."

"Uh, thanks."

This time, there was no mistaken the uncomfortable atmosphere that fell on them. It was clear neither Nightwing or Huntress knew what to say and Superman and Wonder Woman seemed too polite to press things. Even as the two superheroes touched down on the roof, they didn't follow up the greeting.

Finally, Nightwing decided he need to ask the big question. "So, why are you two here?"

Neither hero looked to each other. Instead they straightened out their postures, mentally preparing themselves. "We heard about Batman," Superman answered. "We'd like to know what the situation is here."

Nightwing looked to Huntress, who did the same thing. "Uhh, you do realize it's been months since that happened?" the purple-clad woman replied. "That's a pretty long time to take before coming here."

"The League was in a deep space mission," Wonder Woman immediately explained. There was a tic that Nightwing couldn't help but notice, as if she was antsy. What she was antsy about, he didn't know, but it seemed strange. "There was an outbreak of zombies on Ryut that required our assistance. We only returned earlier today to find out about Batman's situation."

Well, that at least explained why the Justice League hadn't come full force after Bane had thrown Batman into the streets. That had been one thing he had wondered about, their absence. Now it made sense.

"Well, things have been hell," Huntress immediately informed them. "We got Bane tearing Gotham a new one; the police have been run ragged; Blackgate and Arkham have both had escapes; and there's been all sorts of messed up stuff that's been going on."

"And where is Batman?"

Nightwing shrugged his shoulders. "No one knows. He vanished along with his sidekick the night after it happened. No one's heard or seen him since."

Superman and Wonder Woman looked to each other. This time, Nightwing couldn't mistake the worry that was clearly on the Amazon's face. Superman had a similar look, but it wasn't nearly as palpable as the dark-haired woman's. Seizing on this, the male vigilante added, "I take it you haven't been able to get in contact with him either."

Both heroes turned their attention to him, shaking their heads in answer. "No, we haven't," Superman verbalized. "He's not answering his communicator and J'onn hasn't been able to get in touch with him telepathically either. We were kinda hoping you had a way to talk with him."

Now that was incredible. The Justice League had the most powerful superheroes in the world. People with super speed and x-ray vision and super-hearing and telepathy were in that group and even those powers hadn't been able to locate Batman. How far underground had Batgirl taken him?

Helplessly, Nightwing shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry we can't be of more help, but the way we see it, he's not going to be coming back."

This time, the Leaguers' attention focused right on him. It was kinda discerning really; Nightwing wasn't used to this intense scrutiny and it made him uncomfortable. "Tell us what happened," Wonder Woman ordered.

"W-well," he stammered before he mentally shook himself. Just the way the Amazon had ordered him had made him feel small and meek. He needed to be confident here, no sign of weakness to be shown. "We managed to recover him before someone else got to him. Found out that Bane had broken his back. It was too early to tell, but it's possible he may never walk again. Then Batgirl and him disappeared right out of the clinic we had taken him to. That's the last anyone has heard or seen him."

Wonder Woman's face had paled from his story, Superman's eyes widening. That was when the Amazon's eyes blazed with fury the likes of which Nightwing had never seen before. "Where's Bane?" she demanded. "He needs to be brought to justice."

"Whoa, whoa!" Huntress barked, much to Nightwing's surprise. "Slow down there."

The dark-haired woman turned her attention to the vigilante. "Pardon?"

"If I heard you correctly, you're talking about intervening here. As in, the Justice League will be intervening. That's a no-go, sister."

Did...did he just hear that correctly? Huntress was... _refusing_ help? From the Justice League? Perhaps the only people that could straighten this whole mess out? _Why?!_

Superman seemed to have heard the same thing. "We can help you," he stated. "If what you've told us is true, you need all the help that you can get."

"You're right, we do," Huntress acknowledged, "but we can't have you helping. This is a Gotham matter and we have to handle it. If we don't, Gotham will fall apart and be worse off than it is now."

"That's nonsense," Wonder Woman retorted. "People are suffering. They need help. If this is not a Justice League matter, then I do not know what is."

Huntress leveled a cool gaze at the Amazon. "That dirty bomb going off at City Hall was a Justice League matter. The aliens that invaded several years ago, that was a League matter. This is a man trying to take over Gotham. If Batman was around, he'd tell you the same thing he's probably told you several times over: Stay out. I know he's not here, but even if he was rolling around in a wheelchair, he'd probably still tell you to stay out of Gotham."

A faint smile appeared on Wonder Woman's lips. "Yes, I believe you're right about that."

"Then let us handle this. We may be in over our heads, but we're starting to get our feet under us. We just need a little time to get ourselves back on track. We will save Gotham, our way, and no one else's."

Wonder Woman continued to stare at Huntress, though Superman glanced to his companion for a moment. "You know, that does sound like something Batman would say," he admitted. "Are you sure you don't want our help?"

The purple-clad woman gave a sharp nod. "Positive."

Superman paused for a moment before he reached to something behind his back, but beneath his cape. He then pulled out something that looked like a wrist watch. "If you change your mind," he began, "this watch will get you in touch with the Justice League. Just press the button and the watch will do the rest." He then held it out to them, the ends of the watch's straps dangling from his palm.

Eyes darting to Huntress, Nightwing soon became certain she wasn't going to pick up the watch, so he did it, taking a couple steps and accepting the device. He looked at it once, musing that it looked like an ordinary watch. It was something he could've bought at a Walmart or something, though he figured that was probably the point.

Dropping his hand to his side, Superman then gave them both a warm smile. "It was a pleasure to meet you two." Then he began to lift up into the air.

Wonder Woman continued to look at them, her face having lost any of the warmth it had when they first started talking. Then she too raised up into the air, following behind Superman as the two heroes flew up into the night's sky, disappearing into the dark.

It was then that Nightwing spun around to face his comrade. "Why did you say no?" he demanded. "We could've used them!"

Huntress gave him a look. "Don't you remember Two-Face's gang war? Right after he detonated the dirty bomb? Batman took us into his confidence and told us why we had to keep the League out."

Yeah, Nightwing remembered that. He also remembered he was just going along for the ride. That was a Batman operation, supplemented by the Birds of Prey, him, and two green rookies. The Bat had been pretty insistent about not letting the League in, primarily because of how the criminals would think of it.

"But that was then," the young man protested. "Things have changed considerably. This is not the same as Two-Face's gang war."

"And if we let the Justice League in, we might as well kiss the city goodbye," Huntress shot back. "They will just be a band-aid. Once they leave—and they will leave—we'll be left with trying to reassert ourselves without the criminals' fear. That's our edge in this city and we can't afford to give it away for a quick fix. We're Gotham's protectors now and we have to start acting like it."

Really? Long-term planning? Nightwing hadn't given that any thought, mainly because they had a giant crisis on their hands. In his eyes, it didn't matter who took Bane down, so long as someone did. They could then pick up the pieces, restore Gotham back to where it was before Bane nuked Blackgate, before monstrous plants gripped the city apart. They could return to putting down robbers and rapists and racketeers. It would be the same like always.

No...no it wouldn't.

Because Huntress was right. The criminals wouldn't be afraid of them, they wouldn't hesitate. They would see them as weak, reliant on the superheroes that delivered them from Bane. There would be no Batman; he was gone.

Slowly, he nodded his head. "You're right," he spoke. "You're right."

"I know. Now let's go back inside. I think we've had enough fresh air."

* * *

Something was amiss in Gotham.

Looking out the observatory windows, Ra's stared out into the dark city, the lights of it nightlife poisoning the black sky above. There was the sound of a distant voice, one he could not quite make out. It was almost as if the city were speaking to him specifically.

Glancing down, Ra's held an iPad, its screen displaying Bane from his masked face to about mid-torso. The red eyes of the mask seemed to look right at him. Faintly, the white symbol for PLAY marred his features.

With a tap of the right arrow, the video began to play, the blank background of the video flashing distractingly. " _I am Bane,"_ the masked man declared, a brief introduction. " _I know you are out there."_

As if to ward off any suspicion as to who he was speaking to, he pointed one of his beefy fingers towards Ra's. " _You, whom hounds my steps. I have seen you as I know you have seen me._ " He swiped his hand to a side before dropping it off-screen. " _I know that you seek my position as the dominant force in Gotham, a position I have strived for and have claimed. It is only fitting others covet what another has._

" _However, I will not allow you to take what is rightfully mine."_ Again, he jabbed a finger towards Ra's before he jerked his hand back, making a fist, his gestures emphasizing his words. " _I am calling you out of your shadows. If you do not answer my challenge, I will presume you are not worthy of my attention and will hunt you down like the dog that you are. Seek me out if you dare. I will be waiting."_

The video ended then, Ra's gazing upon the frozen screen dispassionately. This Bane's arrogance was galling, though no less admirable. No one spoke to the Demon's Head in this manner, not if they wished to keep their tongue.

And this message was for him. There was no other the brute's words were directed to. No one else had mounted as successful a challenge to Bane's rule as he had.

An hour ago, this message had been broadcasted on every form of media available. Television, internet, and live broadcasts across Gotham's electronic billboards were the primary methods used. The city's populous then uploaded the broadcast to various video media websites for further viewings.

Of course, the main questions was where Bane wanted to be sought. There had been no mention as to a location in the video, which had prompted many questions in the comment section. Undoubtedly this was a trap, but it was also an opportunity. Bane knew how to get his attention and he would be using himself as the bait.

The first order of business though, was to obtain Bane's location. The man had left all the clues necessary to find him in the video and Ra's was not blind to it. The background was still a solid color, offering no details to what part of the city he was in. The flashing lights, however, were blinking at a seemingly random pattern.

Ra's understood the significance immediately. The flashes varied in length, but they were clearly Morse's Code. Ra's had restarted the video to obtain the full message. It was clever really. Bane was trying to communicate with him one-way blind, so the city-wide broadcast alerted everyone to his intent. All would be focused on the figure of Bane, trying to find a clue on his person as to his location. It was a rather brilliant way to use himself as a distraction while announcing his true message in the literal background.

The police would discover this before too long. The rest of the vigilantes remaining in the city would do the same perhaps. However, whatever meeting they would be expecting would be finished long before they discovered the location.

"Tomorrow night, Warehouse #39, come alone," Ra's spoke to himself. Yes, he would come alone—if he truly believed Bane would be alone as well. Since he would be not, the Demon's Fang would be present in full force. Ubu would be at his side and Talia the same. That meant the boy would come as well. Perhaps Bane would see this as an opening to exploit, one Ra's would allow him to do. Undoubtedly the boy would be hurt, but Bane would see the error in that assumption the moment Ra's blade slid into his throat.

"Alright, Bane; you have called out the Demon. I hope you are prepared to face its wrath."

* * *

"Welcome back to GCTV, I'm your host Jack Ryder. We're coming to you live at the Gotham Museum of Art where our man on the streets, Arturo Rodriguez, waits to give you the story. Arturo, fill us in."

Standing in front of the museum, a man in his thirties with chiseled looks and a mop of brown hair held a microphone up to his mouth while giving a winning smile. _"It's the eightieth anniversary of the Gotham Museum of Art's grand opening, Jack. While most know this as a destination for their Bat tours, the Museum itself has hosted works of art from all across the world and until this day, supported by grants and people like our viewers._

 _"This day, eighty years ago, the museum first opened its doors and has given everyone from the highest echelons of the city to the lowest the opportunity to see history as some of the world's greatest artists have had their masterpieces shown here and today is no different. To commemorate, the museum has opened up an exhibit solely for our local artists to have a chance to shine beside Van Gogh, Picasso, and other contemporary artists."_

From behind the news desk, eyes trained on the camera, a professionally-dressed Jack Ryder said, "That sounds like something for the whole family to enjoy, Arturo." The news broadcaster spoke as if his colleague was standing right in front of him, which he wasn't. For the viewers at home, a small square in the corner of the screen was reserved for the reporter who replied as if he was continuing the conversation.

 _"It is, Jack. The museum has given a discount to families so the more of the little ones you bring, the more you get to save. It these troubles time, the museum hopes to give everyone a ray of hope and allow everyone a chance to get lost with what the best of humanity has to offer."_

"Could you tell us a little more about the museum's history?" Though most people could care less about such a thing, the story still had three minutes left to fill up and needed some filler. There was no guarantee that there would be any breaking news to put an end to it.

"I certainly can, Jack. Founded by—"

There was a loud bang, Arturo ducking immediately and cries from people nearby taking up the broadcast's audio.

"Arturo, are you still there?" It was noticeable that Ryder was sitting up straighter, concern coloring his voice.

 _"I'm still here, Jack. I'm reporting that I heard some kind of explosion. I'm looking around—"_ Arturo was matching action to word as he looked to his left, his right and behind him frantically though somehow keeping his composure, _"—but I'm not seeing any signs of damage. I…"_ he trailed off, breaking professionalism for a second as something off screen caught his eye.

"What's going on, Arturo? Talk to us," Ryder pressed, and you could see that the news journalist's body was brimming with energy. It was almost as if he wanted to be there at the scene with his fellow reporter, but was doing everything in his power to stay behind the desk.

 _"I'm hearing something about the roof,"_ Arturo told his colleague, eyes back on the camera before turning and looking up. _"I'm going to see—up there! There's somebody on the roof!"_ The view of the camera left Arturo so that it could zoom in on a dark figure that stood on the ledge of the large building. _"Are you seeing this Jack?"_

"We are, Arturo. Tell us what you can make out." That came out more as an order than a request, but there was an urgency to report as much of this breaking news story that had almost fallen right into their laps as it were.

 _"There's somebody standing on top of the museum. Jack, I'm hearing the people around me, and they're saying what I know the folks at home are thinking. It's hard to make out what I am seeing, but our camera has better sight than I do. Can you make something out of it?"_

"What we're seeing is a person, looks like a male, and all dressed in black," Ryder picked up immediately. "It's hard to make out from this angle, but it looks like this man is wearing something on his head, something with horns."

 _"I don't think I need to remind you, Jack, that this is the spot where the Batman was first spotted several years ago. I don't think that this is a coincidence."_

"Are you saying that we are witnessing the return of Gotham City's most infamous vigilante? A person whom the police have orders to arrest on sight despite the many times he has saved this city from certain disaster?" Ryder pressed.

 _"I am noting the similarities between now and what happened back then. We may be seeing the return of the vigilante after an almost four month absence. I think everyone has seen the video of the Batman being thrown into the streets by the criminal Bane and I know there was debate on whether or not that was the end for him. We may be seeing an end to that debate tonight."_

 _"Attention Gotham City!"_ a loud voice boomed, stopping any further reporting between the two journalists. _"Your dark night is at its end! Your Dark Knight has returned to deliver you from this nightmare that has become your reality! I issue a declaration of war on those who would take my city from me, from the lowly criminals, to Bane himself! You may rest in safety once again, my people! You are under my protection once more!"_

 _"Did you get that, Jack?"_ Arturo demanded. _"It seems that whoever that is is claiming to be the Batman himself. For those who are tuning in, this was not something that the Batman did when he was first spotted here."_

"It sounds like he is challenging the criminal Bane, the man who is said to have broken the Bat and has been assaulting our streets for the past four months," Ryder confirmed what their broadcast had picked up. "Arturo, we're going to need you to hang tight and stick with this. For everyone at home, we're going to keep you updated on this story as it develops. Stay tuned."

* * *

At the precinct, many officers had gathered around the TV, gawking at the image on the screen. One of them was the Commissioner who had only caught the last couple minutes of the broadcast, a frown marring his face.

Then one officer asked, "Do you think it's him? Is he back?"

Breaking his gaze from the screen, Gordon ordered, "We need to get to that museum and cordon it off."

"Is something wrong, Commissioner?" another officer asked, his voice uncertain.

Giving that officer a look, Gordon stated, "That's not him."

* * *

Another Gordon happened to be watching the breaking story, this one viewing through a computer monitor. Already, the internet was exploding with speculation, but none of it confirmed anything.

Barbara ignored it all. Though she automatically noticed how familiar this looked, her guts was saying nothing was as it seemed. As a former Batman groupie, she wanted this to be as real as possible. As Oracle, she knew better than to trust her eyes.

So she would get some eyes on the ground.

"Everyone, you need to get down to the Gotham Museum of Art. Something is happening and you're going to want to see it for yourself," she said over the radio, putting the rest of the Network on alert.


	23. Batman's Successor

By the time the Network had arrived at the museum, the cops had managed to beat them there, already setting up a perimeter. They were blocking off the streets and bringing in spotlights. Someone was really treating this seriously.

"How the heck are we suppose to get over there?" Red Hood demanded.

In answer, Nightwing fired off a cable and flew high over the perimeter, a grappling claw disappearing into the flashes of red and blue. The line grew taut as the claw grabbed hold of whatever it could and with the press of a second button, he fired a second cable directly behind him, creating a zipline when that end was also secure.

"You've much to learn, young padawan," Green Arrow quipped as he balanced the grip of his bow on the line and zipped off, sliding his way to the other building.

"Bright side of the job, we get our own toys," Nightwing agreed. Glancing at Red Hood, he added, "Don't give me that look. We've done this before only this time it's going to be a longer ride."

Katana had already gone ahead while Manhunter was attaching her zip handle to the line before taking off. Huntress was readying hers, but he noticed how much slower she was. Something was on her mind, that much was clear.

"Come on guys, we don't have all night," he ordered the rest of the Batclan, Bluebird taking her turn after giving the older, female vigilante a look. She probably noticed how the more experienced crimefighter wasn't already going into action. Whether she was questioning the why, he could look into later.

After Red Hood and Spoiler had taken their turns, Nightwing sought to nip whatever was going through Huntress' mind in the butt before it got them into trouble. "Something on your mind?"

"Oracle said it was someone in a Batsuit up there," Huntress answered. "This was the first place Batman revealed himself. As much as I hope... _pray_ that it's him over there, my gut is telling me different."

There was a part of Nightwing that also wanted it to be _him_ over there, but like his comrade here, he was also doubtful. "Is this something that's going to get in the way?"

"I'll deal. Besides, if it is a fake, he's going to need to know the name of a very good dentist once I'm through with him." And there was the tough as nails Huntress he remembered. Already, she was attaching her zip handle to the line, leaving Nightwing to cover the rear.

As he watched the other vigilante glide her way over to the museum, he took a second to feel out his ribs. They were doing better, but they hadn't healed as much as he had wanted them to. All the physical activity was getting in the way of that. It was best to suck it up, hope for the best, but be ready for the worst. He took out his own handle and found himself zipping on over.

By the time he had reached the museum rooftop, the police had turned on their searchlights, lighting up the night. Kinda cut that close, didn't he? He could see the younger vigilantes close to where the zipline ended, their scouts further up on the roof and taking stock of what they found. Nightwing moved past his Batclan allies and joined Green Arrow at the front to get a good look himself.

It was a dark figure straight ahead and even from here he could see the pointed horns on the person's head. Whoever this was, they had done a real good job because he was almost buying this. Almost.

"What do you guys think?" Arrow asked, a hand moving, but not reaching for his arrows, just ready to pluck one out if necessary.

"If he's the real deal, he'll know that we're already here," Huntress stated, eyes trained like a hawk on the dark figure. The cape was blocking most of the body from sight.

"We'll have to get his attention," Manhunter said.

"I'll do it. Hopefully, he'll respond better to me," Huntress volunteered.

"Sure about that?" Nightwing asked, glancing at her from over his shoulder.

"I would think that all the months we teamed up together mean something. At least, he won't try to break my legs and tell me to get off the streets," the purple-wearing vigilante replied.

"We'll be ready just in case. It would be a shame if anything happened to those legs," Green Arrow replied.

"And you better hope Black Canary doesn't hear about this," she retorted, standing up and moving around them to approach the caped figure dead ahead.

In his chest, his heart was pounding. How was this going to go? It could happen in so many different ways, some of them good, some great, and others horribly. What would Huntress say? How was she going to greet this person who standing practically in the same spot Batman had all those years ago?

"Hey! You in the cape! Who are you and what do you think you're doing?" Huntress called out in a demanding tone of voice.

Not how he thought that was going to go.

However, the dark, Batman-esque person did not move or show any signs of hearing Huntress. He remained absolutely calm, stoic, and unmoved.

Nightwing could almost imagine Huntress' face. It was like this guy was ignoring her.

Wait. He narrowed his eyes. Was it him, or did that guy's shoulders move? Like up and down? Was he...was he laughing or holding it in? Now that was not a Batman thing to do. In fact, Nightwing couldn't, for the life of him, think of a time when he had ever seen, or heard Batman laugh before.

"Is it not obvious?"

Okay, that was not Batman's voice. He would know since he had heard it before. This voice, it was way too deep. Not dark with a hint of gravel in it, just simply deep. Obviously, that confirmed that this was a man, but who was it? As if to answer him, the caped man began to turn before dropping one more bombshell.

"I am Batman."

* * *

Huntress narrowed her eyes at that declaration. _I am Batman_. No, no he was not because she had been by that man's side too long to not know the signs of the real thing

For one thing, this man was big, too big for the Dark Knight. His shoulders were way too broad, even with the cape draping over them and falling down to cover his body. There was an exception with the chest, as that was bare, revealing the dark, tight-fitting material cover the chest. A symbol was very prominently displayed there, that of a bat that was almost if not identical to the one she had seen on Batman's chest countless times before.

Someone had an eye for detail, but so did she. The detail in question was that there was no visible sign of armor where that Bat Symbol was. If she didn't know better, she'd say it was some kind of spandex that this man wore.

As for the mask, instead of the narrow, blank, white lens that covered the eyes, there were round, almost circular white lens that had a habit of refracting any light that came near them, giving the impression that she was looking at a bug's eyes. The mouth region was totally uncovered, though, just like with Batman.

However, the biggest giveaway that this wasn't Batman was the thick beard. Grey in color with no mustache joining it, she recognized the beard if only because she had been staring at a picture of it for several days now. It was the same style that Hugo Strange was known to have, but this couldn't be the same guy, could it?

Hugo Strange was a weakling, physically speaking. He had no fighting abilities whatsoever. Hell, last she heard he had been worked over by Two-Face and was damn near a cripple because of it. Then again, she had never met the man before and never had any intention of doing so mainly because she didn't know if she would be able to hold herself back.

Like right now.

"Don't make me laugh," she spat out, keeping her anger and fury under check because right now she needed to remain cool. Everyone here needed her to remain calm, even though she was not known for being either. "I know him, and you are not the Bat. Who are you, really."

Despite the beard, she could see the fake Batman's lips curl. "My dear, you are only half right. While I may not be the original, what you see before you is his successor."

Successor? The...the _balls_ this bastard had, as if _anyone_ could be Batman's successor. Maybe Batgirl could, given enough time, but she knew for a fact that there was no one in the city that could claim that. This, this reeked of ego, not unlike…

Something clicked together in her head. They weren't pieces that you would think were related, but after the rampage of the Monster Man, the confession about a bearded scientist, and now this large man dressed as a pseudo-Batman…

"You're Hugo Strange, aren't you?" Huntress accused, shooting an arm out to point a finger at him.

Those lips smirked wider. "You have intelligence. Very well, you are correct. I am indeed Professor Hugo Strange, the greatest adversary the Batman has ever known and the only one worthy to take his place in this time of chaos and disorder."

 _Take his place?_

"What the hell are you talking about?" she demanded, her body tensing.

"It should be obvious to anyone with any intelligence, Gotham City needs the Batman. Before he could fall to my superior intellect, he was struck down by this newcomer, this Bane character. He is the same individual whom you yourself have been fighting, am I not correct? This is no ordinary foe and will require new methods in order to defeat." By now, Strange's smirk had widened into a very toothy grin.

"And you think you're the one worthy enough to pull it off?" Why had she used that phrasing? It was like she was being coaxed to speak similarly to this asshole somehow.

"I am the only one. No one has come closer to felling the Batman than myself. It is only natural that I take on his mantle and continue his mission." It was said matter of fact, as if there could be no other conclusion that could be made.

However, Huntress wanted nothing more than to call bullshit. No one closer than him? The Joker would beg to differ on that.

"So what? You're going to dress up like him and beat Bane just because you're smart?" She didn't even make the effort to hold in her snort.

"Bane is too much of a physical threat to rely on intelligence, I'm afraid," Strange remarked. "In my former condition, I would have stood no chance against him. No, this is a battlefield that must be evened first before any conflict can take place. And I have done just that."

Even now, he still made very little sense, if a man like this ever did.

"So how does everything else fit? Kidnapping Mario Falcone and turning him into that thing? How does that even the battlefield?"

"I would have thought it obvious, even to one such as yourself." Strange shook his head from side to side, as if pitying her. "I have found a way to even the physical aspects of this fight. But like any inventor of something new, one must first test his creation before administering it to himself. Side effects are very...fickle matters."

Test…? Wait, then would that mean…? Oh no.

"What you did to Falcone...what are you up to?" Huntress found herself taking a step back, one of her hands reaching for her collapsible bo staff.

With a short laugh, Strange threw back his cape and spread out enormously muscled arms, revealing a massive torso and thick legs. The outfit he wore looked like it was straining against his bulk yet somehow, miraculously, held on. Oh, and was that…yes, that was a machine gun that was strapped to his side.

With his transformed body on display, Strange declared, "Haven't you figured it out? I needed Falcone to test my serum _before_ I used it on myself! If I am to defeat Bane, I must have the brawn to do it!"

"And I think you need to lay off the steroids, buddy. You have seriously over-roided yourself." What the? Since when did Green Arrow come out of hiding? Oh come on, and Nightwing too? Sure, he was holding those sticks of his but really, could they not keep themselves in reserves until, she didn't know, use it as an advantage when this thing ended up as a fight? At least Katana and Manhunter hadn't shown themselves yet.

"Ah, you did not come alone," Strange said. "I'm betting that there are others around here, perhaps waiting for an opportunity to strike me down. It matters not, but this need not come to blows. Not if you hear me out first."

"I think we've already heard enough," Nightwing retorted.

"Not nearly enough. If there is anything that I know, it is the Batman. I'm willing to wager that he was not...pleased to have you in his city, patrolling his streets. Perhaps there has been a time or two where he threatened you to leave behind this life, or he would do it for you."

That...wasn't too far from the truth. Even Huntress caught the flinch from Nightwing's body. So Batman did that with him too? Probably the rest of the Batclan as well, not that she blamed him. But she herself had received the third degree as well. Batman had not been happy that any of them were fighting crime in his city.

"However, this is the dawn of a new age in this city and isolation is not the path to salvation," Strange continued, his arms lowered though his cape remained over his shoulders. "Join me. Become my acolytes. Together, we will usher in a new reign of order this city has been begging for for decades. Unlike my predecessor, I will not turn away those who wish to help." Now he held out a single hand, the palm turned upward in offering. "Gotham needs a new kind of vigilante to address it's new woes, and I will be the balm to its injuries."

Huntress found herself sharing a look with either of the two men on her sides. It was easy to see that they were sharing the same feeling with her, and that was that Strange here was so deluded that he though only he could save Gotham. He was the man that had nearly brought it to the brink of collapse and now he wanted to save it?

This wasn't about saving Gotham, this was about inflating that ego of his. If Strange could do something that Batman couldn't, that would somehow prove that he was better than the Dark Knight. This wasn't an act of selflessness, but the complete opposite.

And like hell any of them were going to let this bastard take over the mantle of the Bat.

"Sorry, but I think we're going to have to turn you down," Huntress stated as she whipped out her bo staff, the ends extending out.

"Pity. Very well. If you will not serve me voluntarily, then you will serve as the foundation for my new Gotham." And out came that machine gun she had spotted earlier. As that toothy grin became more malicious, Strange added, "If nothing else, you can serve as a test run of my new abilities. Do not disappoint me."

And then he opened fire.

* * *

The three remaining members of the Batclan jumped the moment they heard the gunfire.

"Shit's starting up!" Red Hood swore as he peeked around their cover. Immediately, he pulled his head back as several bullets struck nearby.

Bluebird gripped her taser rifle tightly. She had figured that this might end in a fight, but there had been that part of her that had wanted differently. Oh well. Since the adults were fighting, it was a good bet that they were going to be dragged into it too.

"Let's try to flank him. If you guys can, try to draw his attention and I'll tase the shit out of him when he's not looking," she planned out, looking between her two partners.

"You think he'll fall for it? He looks pretty big," Spoiler said.

What did that have to do with anything? Hadn't she ever heard of the bigger they are, the harder they fall?

"What the hell does flank mean?" Red Hood demanded.

Bluebird rolled her eyes. "Come at him from a side, go for his weak areas. If he's anything like that Monster Man, aim for the throat, the knees, hell, even the balls. Just make sure he can't get out of the way one I start shooting."

* * *

Green Arrow was quick to dive to aside, arrow notched but not fired yet. He had not been expecting this Strange guy to be packing any heat on him. For a guy who was trying to replace Batman, a man who was well known to never use any guns, this was a far departure from that.

Hiding behind an AC unit, the Emerald Archer waiting for a lull in the shooting before taking the chance to fire back. Failing that, he listened for the slightest shift in the gunfire, anything that said that the Batman-wannabe over there was not aiming in his direction.

Without even thinking, he was moving around the unit and shooting an arrow, pulling back into the cover and doing it all in less than a second. When the gun fire stopped, he knew he had hit his target and only then did he risk a peek.

Right there, in the side of a deltoid muscle, his arrow stuck out. Strange was looking at it, though what face he was making could not be seen from here. It didn't seem like the crazy man was taking it serious as he reached up and yanked the arrow out, taking a second to snap it in half with a single hand before tossing it aside.

Just a flesh wound, eh?

A flash of metal caught his attention, and he spotted Huntress closing in, swinging her staff at the costumed wacko. Much like the Monster Man before, Strange took the hits she landed, the staff practically bouncing off his side, causing no observable damage. The bearded man seemed to take this in stride, letting her hit him with everything she had, her staff smacking against his chest, legs, back, and even his head. Stabbing one end of the staff onto the rooftop then, Huntress used it as a means of balance so that she could haul herself up into the air and land a kick right to his chin and snap his head back.

Then a second staff came down on that cowled head. Manhunter was entering the fray. While it didn't seem like her staff was causing more damage than Huntress', the red-clad vigilante was already swinging her legs forward to slam her feet into Strange's back. Surprise, surprise, Strange didn't even budge, only grabbing Manhunter's staff with one hand, removing it from his head and throwing it, and Manhunter by extension, over him. Both managed to land gracefully on the roof some distance away.

Nightwing was taking his turn then, swinging his escrima and hitting any surface he could, serving as a distraction while Huntress pulled back. Even though the ends of those batons were practically crackling with electricity and flaring with each hit that was landed, Strange continued to show no signs of taking damage.

However, the younger male was successful and knocking that machine gun away, one stick hitting the man on the wrist as the other collided with the gun. The machine gun went clattering across the roof top. Seeing his chance, Green Arrow pulled out another arrow and fired.

As if sensing the arrow was coming in, Nightwing pulled back as the arrow flew by him and hit its target, the tip detonating and releasing a mess of restraining ribbons that wrapped Strange up like a crude Christmas present from his ankles to his shoulders. The nutjob was still standing though, but it seemed like this was all a wrap.

He knew better, he really did. With some straining effort, Strange's arms ripped through the ribbon easily. Hands grabbing onto the remains, he tore them off of his body, his enhanced strength on display.

"Come now," the crazy shrink gloated. "Is that all you have?"

The beating of helicopter propellers directed the madman's attention up into the air. A light flashed from above and a voice thundered, _"You on the roof! Lay down on the ground and put your hands over your heads! You are all under arrest!"_

Oh crap, the fuzz.

If Strange had something to say, it was hard to tell over the whupping of the propellers. What wasn't was when he strode towards his fallen machine gun and snatched it up, taking aim and then opened fire on the aircraft. Bullets struck whatever surface they could hit and the pilot was already moving away to evade.

But Jesus Christ, did this guy not know that cops were off limits? You don't attack those guys for crying out loud!

Without even thinking, the Emerald Archer was pulling out an arrow and notching it, prepared to stop this before any non-vigilante person got hurt. However, someone else seemed to have the same idea, but had a different approach.

Strange's head barely tilted to a side as a fist slammed against it. Immediately, that Red Hood guy pulled his hand back and held it gingerly. Had that kid not learned that against these chemically-enhanced people that a simple punch was not going to work? He probably broke his hand this time judging by the way he was holding it.

The Spoiler girl seemed to have learned as she tried to kick Strange's feet out from under him by throwing herself through the air, both legs held together like a battering ram. Her aim was little off, though, as her feet rammed just under the joint and with the sudden stop in momentum, the hooded vigilante fell flat on her back.

Strange looked down at the two of them, what parts of his face that were visible holding good humor. It was as if he didn't care that these two kids had tried to assault him. However that barrel of his machine gun was way too close to those kiddies for Green Arrow's liking. Pulling back on his bow's string, he took a crucial second to aim—

—only for Strange to cry out as he fell to his knees from a discharge of electricity. Oh yeah, there was that Bluebird punk girl. Looks like she had taken advantage of Strange's distraction to sneak behind him and tase him from behind. Not bad.

Further taking advantage of Strange's incapacitation was Huntress and Nightwing, both holding on to the former's bo staff and clotheslining the demented lunatic. Despite all his augmented strength and muscle mass, between the two Gotham natives they were able to push him back and off the roof—!

Oh no.

All three of them vanished as they fell off the edge of the roof. Already slipping his arrow back into his quiver, Green Arrow ran as quick as he could to the roof's edge while pulling another, specialized one out. Basically, it contained a net designed to catch anyone who happened to be falling from high up places because you never knew when that would happen.

This looked like one of those times.

As he looked over the building's ledge, he had to jump back as the a grappling hook impaled the ledge right where he stood. Following the rope that was connected to it down, he saw Huntress, Nightwing, and Strange, a mass of limbs and body parts, which made it hard to tell who was holding the other end of the line. The cable went taut and the three went into a swing, one that promptly ended as they crashed right into a large window of the museum. They vanished from sight immediately, the sound of glass shattering echoing into the night.

Well then, it seemed the fight was now going indoors. With that police chopper circling around, perhaps it was best that they got inside too. Their comrades were definitely going to need the help if all...of that...hadn't taken Strange down.

* * *

Huntress groaned as she pushed herself off the very hard floor, rubbing a hand against the back of her neck. That had not been one of her, or anyone else's brightest ideas, but it had to be done if they didn't want anybody else getting hurt. Strange trying to shoot down that helicopter would only get the cops to start shooting back and they would be in the middle of it.

At least she had used that bearded freak as a cushion after crashing through that window. She figured he could take it. Now, where was Nightwing? That guy had to be around here since he came in with her.

The first person she found, as it turned out, was Strange, his large body lying on the floor next to a very old and pricey sculpture. Whew, barely missed that and she figured it was not going to be cheap replacing it. Unfortunately, she managed to overhear what sounded like chuckling. _Don't tell me…_

Pushing himself up until he had gained a sitted position, Strange looked like he was no worse for wear. "Very dramatic of you. However, it seems my endurance is greater than anticipated."

Well shit.

Huntress got back up onto her legs. She didn't know where her bo staff was, so that meant the only things she had on her was...her crossbow. Like that would do well against a machine gun that...wasn't...on...Strange's person. That thing must have gone somewhere, but at least he wasn't holding it, even as the augmented man got himself up onto his feet.

Reaching out, Strange grabbed the sculpture he had landed next to and picked it up, holding the now heavy-looking piece of carved rock over his head. Predictably, he threw it at her, and naturally Huntress leapt out of the way, going into a roll as the sculpture landed on the floor, a piece of it breaking it off as it clattered away.

Heavy footsteps alerted her to Strange's approach, the man clasping his hands together as he raised them up and brought them down in a jackhammer maneuver. A spiderweb of cracks formed in the spot that the vigilante had quickly scrambled away from, the Batman-wannabe turning his head as he watched her escape him.

One of Nightwing's electric baton things swung into view then and hit Strange right in the middle of his face, getting a yelp from the muscular man and redirecting his attention away from her. Nightwing had taken up a defensive pose, waiting for his opponent to come at him.

He was not disappointed as Strange swung a punch that was so sloppy, even a blind man could see it coming a mile away. Nightwing ducked under it, moving a little to his right as he waiting for the next one. A meaty left fist did not make him wait long as it aimed for the lithe man's head. Another duck and then a jump as Strange picked up a leg and kicked his foot out. Showing off some enviable acrobatics, Nightwing planted his hands on the booted foot and balanced on it for a second before pushing himself up and over the Batman-themed shrink.

Landing behind Strange, Nightwing spun around, swinging his electrified baton and landing a hit on the back of a large knee. That was enough to make the costumed lunatic stumble forward, but somehow not bring him to his knees.

Looking over his shoulder, Strange uttered a growl as he turned around to face the younger man. Finally, all that ridiculous good humor of his was gone.

"You're not doing so hot, are ya?" Nightwing taunted as he took a step back and to the side, starting to circle around the behemoth.

Giving an uncharacteristic snarl, Strange lunged forward, moving with all the power of a semi. That was easily dodged for Nightwing, though he didn't go on the attack like she expected. As it turned out, it was like he had tagged himself as Katana charged in from a side, slashing with her sword.

The blade managed to get under the large cape that Strange wore and sliced into his back, earning another cry from the bearded man and causing his own charge to turn into a stumble that ended when he ran into a wall.

An arrow screamed past Huntress and detonated mere feet away from the Batman impersonator to release a net that pinned the man into the wall. Lastly, another blast of electricity shrieked by and hit Strange dead on, causing him to spasm behind the netting.

Alright, the cavalry had come in early.

" _Alright guys, you need to end this quickly_ ," Oracle voice sounded through her earpiece. " _The cops are starting to surround the building and it's only a matter of time until they decide to crash the party_."

"I think we got things under control here," Green Arrow spoke for them all, his eyes trained on Strange whose body had fallen limp.

That is until his shoulders began to shake. "Oh, how mistaken you are," Strange spoke before the netting that restrained him increased in tautness. The small ropes snapped as the madman broke free, his arms pushing himself away from the wall.

"You've gotta be kidding me." Huntress didn't know who said that, but it either sounded like Manhunter, or it was herself.

"You have put up an admirable effort, but it was never a match to my superior mind," Strange taunted. "It is still not too late to accept my proposal. I have not rescinded my offer."

"Sorry, pal, but I have too much respect for the man who wore that get-up and none for you," Green Arrow retorted.

"This goes no further," Manhunter declared.

Strange shook his head as he chided, "How dull it must be to possess such small minds. Very well. If you will not stand with me, than I will have to step over your corpses if I am to realize my destiny."

Grabbing a very long display case, the costumed lunatic picked it up and swung it like as bat. Everyone of them were scrambling to dodge it, Huntress herself nearly getting nicked by it as she allowed herself to drop onto the floor.

Attempting to get back onto her feet, she dropped back down as the display case swung back. Lifting her head up, she watched as Strange threw the display case, with all its artistic artifacts in it, in their general direction and she took that time to get out of the way. Anything that happened to be in its way were knocked down, or crushed by the display case.

Instead of Strange strolling his way over to them, he had darted to a side, running for once with his heavy, booted feet shaking the floor beneath him. What was he...oh. Stretching out a hand, the bearded lunatic snatched up his gun and now was a pretty good time to be running for cover.

So she did, hiding behind another display case as gunfire erupted once more. Several bullets broke through the upper part of the case, raining glass onto her from above. Fortunately, she kept herself low to the floor so at least the risk of getting shot was low.

Then Green Arrow came to her side. "This isn't going well, is it?" he shouted over the sounds of shooting and bullets whizzing by.

"When does it ever?" she shouted back as she pulled out several of her H-shaped shuriken. Time to try that tried and true method of knocking weapons out of bad guy's hands, or at the very least knock his aim off. Peeking around her cover, she ducked back quickly as several bullets pelted the area. She had barely got a look at Strange before he turned right in her direction, hardly any time to throw anything.

The bullets lessened, but that didn't mean that that asshole had stopped shooting. Paintings hanging on the walls, many of them masterpieces, were being damaged beyond repair. Those were not going to be cheap to repair, if they ever could be.

"Any thoughts on how we're going to get out of this?" she shouted at her ally.

"Wait until he has to change the clip?" Green Arrow suggested loudly.

She had been afraid that would be the answer. Quickly peeking around the display case behind her, she grimaced at how smoky it was getting around here. Dust and plaster was really starting to cloud the room. To her irritation, she spotted what looked like a spent clip, meaning he had changed already. Good God, how long would this one last?

The shooting came to an abrupt stop, but not because Strange had run out, or someone had stopped him. Predictably, it was to gloat. "Have you not realized that you stand no chance? None of you are my equal. None of you are the Batman. None of you have what it takes to fill his shoes, to bear his mantle. You need not suffer this weakness, however. My Monster Man serum can fix that; all you need to do is swear fealty."

"Fuck that!" she spat out. There was no way she was ever going to accept anything from that man. Not after everything he had done and put this city through.

Strange looked like he was about to say something else, but someone beat him to it.

"Professor Hugo Strange."

It was a deep voice; ominous would be another way to describe it. It made Huntress jump at the unexpectedness of it. Where the hell had that come from? Strange seemed to be of the same mind as he too was silent, his held tilted and his body tense. Then slowly, he turned his upper body enough to look towards an alcove where a large cloud of smoke had somehow appeared. Even Huntress had to blink at it because it had blended in with all the dust and plaster in the air.

There was a dark figure that slowly appeared in the middle of the cloud before it emerged, a gray-colored cloak covering its body. Over the head was a hood and peeking out from under it was a skull-like mask. It took a second before Huntress recognized it.

"Oh hell no," she swore.

Coming to a stop, the killer she knew as the Phantasm faced Strange and uttered, "Your angel of death awaits."

"You know that person?" Green Arrow hissed, not taking his eyes off the sight. He had an arrow notched, but had yet to take aim and fire.

"Unfortunately," she confirmed. "Shit just got real."

* * *

There he was, its prey dressed as this city's fallen guardian. The Phantasm wished it could say it was not surprised, but everything it had learned about this man made this all the more believable. It hadn't needed to find the plans the man had left in his safe house to believe it.

"You," Strange said slowly. "I remember you. So you have returned and with myself as your target."

"We have unfinished business, Professor," the Phantasm retorted, slipping its right hand out to show the blade it wielded.

Strange was not intimidated. "You intend to kill me. Very well, perhaps you'll be a better challenge than these imitators." The gun the mad shrink held was turned towards it. "This is very fitting, is it not? I created you and now I destroy you. A perfect test to fully assess my newfound strength. Come, serve me this last time—"

Abruptly, the Phantasm raised its bladed hand up and fired the long, curved blade like a missile straight into the barrel of the costumed man's gun. The blade tore straight into it, decimating the weapon and rendering it unusable. Activating a magnetic mechanism, the blade was pulled back and returned to its place on its hand, as if it had never left.

That had stopped Strange from speaking as he stared at the remains of his gun. Surprisingly, he made a chuckle. "So you have improved yourself. Very good. You won't be a disappointment after all."

Holding the remains of the gun up, Strange threw it at the masked killer, the Phantasm merely throwing its arms out and surrounding itself in its smoke. The gun passed through the smoke, a harmless missile by all accounts. As the smoke dissipated, Strange had charged forth and swung a fist into it, finding nothing within to hit.

Coming from a side, the ghastly stalker slashed and cut into its prey's beefy arm, tearing through the thin material that made up the costume. Giving a snarl, Strange used his other arm to grab at it, but the Phantasm ducked under and snagged outstretched arm. Pulling down with one hand, and pushing up with its other arm, the killer threw the larger man over itself and across the room where he crashed onto a damaged display case, which two of the city's vigilantes just happen to be hiding behind.

Taking its time, the vengeful assassin stalked its way towards Strange. Light glimmered off its bladed hand, blood staining it already. To its consternation, Strange rolled off the remains of the display case and stood up, a menacing grin splitting his masked face.

Reaching under its cape with its gloved hand, it remove three needle-shaped throwing projectiles, and threw them at its target, Trails of smoke rolled in their wake, and Strange blocked them with an arm. Each one stabbed into the lower arm, and the bearded man expressed no pain at the three penetrations.

Then the projectiles detonated, earning that desired cry of pain.

Yes, the Phantasm had updated its arsenal before returning to this city. While its tried and true method of waiting in the shadows and striking after dosing its prey with fear toxin was a proven strategy, there had been a time it had been without that chemical edge. There had been targets that had put up a fight, so new methods had to be devised to handle them. The killer freely admitted it had learned from its encounters with Batman and had appropriated some of those techniques while adding its own touch to them. The infamous exploding batarangs were one such tool.

As Strange clutched at his arm, the Phantasm leapt at him, stabbing forth with its bladed hand. Looking up, its prey saw his death coming and quickly moved his head out of the way. Simultaneously, he shot his uninjured arm out and caught the killer by the throat. An immense pressure was felt all around that area of its body as it was lifted up into the air.

With a growl, Strange slammed the masked killer onto the floor, stunning it. Trauma paralyzed it for a brief instance even as Strange released him, straightening out his posture. However, it was able to recovery enough to roll out of the way of a stomping foot that shattered the floor where it had once laid.

Not willing to leave the large, bearded man unscathed, the Phantasm slashed and cut into a muscled calf, only pushing itself onto its feet and away after that. Strange fell into a crouch, his hands grasping at his injured lower leg and leaving him vulnerable. However, learning from before, it was not about to do another frontal assault.

From behind, however…

As it was moving into place, it spun around and slashed through an arrow that had been fired at it, splitting the arrow through the middle and sending the two halves to fly harmlessly around it. The vigilante that had fired at it already had another arrow ready to shoot, but instead of firing, he shot out words.

"Alright, not gonna lie, that was cool," the green-clad man quipped. "But what the hell are you doing? Are you trying to kill him?"

"That is my intention," the Phantasm stated. "Stay out of this."

"Sorry, but no one dies tonight," the archer retorted.

The masked killer chose not to respond, not when it had a more important issue to deal with. Engulfing itself with its smoke, it evaded a charging Strange who passed through the smokescreen and continued to the bearded vigilante. Said vigilante swore and dodged to avoid the attack.

"Be careful, don't breathe that smoke! It's laced with fear toxin!" the purple-clad vigilante shouted at her comrade. While it was true that its smoke was indeed laced with the poison, Strange so far had not shown any signs of being affected. As the large man exhaled and then took in a breath of fresh air, the killer figured out why. Strange had anticipated this and was holding his breath when he came in too close.

Clever, but right now, that broad back was facing the killer. Seeing its opportunity, the Phantasm launched itself out of the smoke, stabbing forward with its bladed hand. However, Strange's luck seemed to hold as a katana intercepted and blocked the strike, the Asian vigilante pushing the blade back.

Instead of pressing forward, the Phantasm withdrew, but not before leaving a parting gift of its fear-laced smoke behind. Another vantage then, perhaps further away from these interlopers.

Appearing again on the far side of the exhibit, the Phantasm observed as its target turned on his saviors, futility batting away the Asian vigilante as she danced out of his reach. Narrowing eyes behind its masked, it took only a few seconds to study the Batman impersonator and put it together with its other observations.

"You dress yourself as the Batman," it spoke, directing all attention towards it. More importantly, it had captured Strange's. "It is obvious to all that you are not him."

"Trying to get into my head?" Strange mocked. "If you think you are qualified, you are sadly mistaken."

"You are nothing but a brute. It is plain to see," the Phantasm continued. "The Batman was better. A better fighter. A better strategist. Unlike him, you need others to fight your battles."

"But not anymore," Strange retorted.

"Your dependence continues," it refuted. "Your notes reveal all, how you took the substance known as Venom and reshaped it to your own ends. This Monster Man serum is a knock off, much like yourself. An inferior product for an inferior man."

"You dare?" Strange seethed.

"You are nothing but words," the Phantasm continued its taunt. "Your faith in your knockoff steroid is misplaced and will end in your death. You believe it has made yourself superior, but it has made you nothing more than a common thug. A dirt common goon that is easily expendable."

"You know nothing! Nothing of my genius!" Its prey was baited.

"Your genius? Then why is it that people think of Black Mask before you? Two-Face? The Joker? No, you are nothing, little man. Not even an afterthought. Doomed to obscurity where no one will ever remember you. Forgotten as most geniuses are. How very...common."

"Grrrraaaahhhhhh!"

Strange was charging, the insults to his ego unable to be ignored. The Phantasm waited until a fist was swinging at it before it acted. Twisting out of the way, it sliced into the hand with its blade before pulling back and dodging the second fist. Like the first, it cut with another slash up the lower arm. Every attack Strange threw was evaded and injury left in its wake.

In moments, Strange's arms were torn up, blood absorbed into the fabric of his costume. Even then, the sleeves were tatters. Evading a grab, the killer stomped onto a foot and slipped around the bearded man, gouging its blade into the broad back and slicing upwards with it. With a yell, Strange fell to his knees once more, a hand tentatively reaching for his back, but not quite reaching the wound.

Determined to end this before there was more interference, the Phantasm stabbed forth once more, sure that there this would be it. Except, Strange twisted his torso enough that the blade missed anything vital. A hand snatched the extended arm, and then the free hand found its way to the killer throat once more Standing up, the injured shrink held his would-be killer off the floor.

"You cannot kill me," Strange snarled. "You _will not_ kill me! I am superior! I—"

The Phantasm interrupted him by bringing its gloved hand to the bearded man's face and releasing as much smoke as it could while the deranged shrink took a breath between words, filling his lungs with the gas. A hacking fit took over the costumed man and the masked killer slipped its bladed arm out of Strange's grasp. Bringing its feet up, it planted them on the broad chest of the coughing man and flipped its way out of the other hand's hold.

Taking a step away, the killer waited for the fear toxin to take hold.

"You think...this will...help you?" Strange said between coughs even as the smoke dissipated. "My mind...is too strong!" A deep gasp interrupted him. "I will not…! I will…!"

Something was wrong, the killer noted. The way Strange's chest expanded and shrank with each breath he took was too quick. His breathing was picking up and his speech was beginning to garble. To its surprise, foam began to form on the bearded man's lips followed by choking noises.

And then he fell to the floor, his hands clutching at his chest. By all appearances, it looked like Strange was having cardiac arrest.

Indeed, it was a heart attack.

* * *

So far, this had been a crazy night, what with this new guy coming out of nowhere to fight Strange. It kinda made Nightwing think of the Ghost of Christmas Future.

Unlike that ghost, this one knew how to fight and seemed to have an actual back and forth with the Batman-wannabe. However, it became obvious that this guy was trying to kill Strange and wasn't holding back with the maiming.

They were going to have to interrupt this, weren't they?

Then Strange fell to the floor after getting a big dose of that smoke, the same stuff that Huntress had warned them about not getting close to. Something wasn't right about this. As far as he knew, fear toxin didn't make anyone react like this.

Katana was already acting to drive ghost man away from Strange, brandishing her sword. Immediately, the ghost man backed away, holding that odd, bladed hand up to fend off Katana's sword. Taking that opportunity, he ran up to the man who looked like he was—oh shit, he was having a goddamn heart attack! He had seen something like this once before, back when he was still a part of the Flying Graysons at Hailey's Circus. Of all people, it had been the lion tamer, but luckily not when he was in the cage with the lion.

What had they tried back then to save that tamer's life?

Surprisingly, he was able to bat Strange's hands away. He pressed an ear to the massive pecs and picked up the rapid, irregular thumping of a heart that was beating way too fast. Gone was the normal _lub-dub_ of a heart beat; instead it was beating all over the damn place. Damn, that could _not_ be healthy. But what to do, what to do? What had...wait.

Those paddle things—the defibrillators! That's what the paramedics had used back then! They had shocked the tamer's heart back to its normal rhythm. He remembered asking about it as they were strapping the poor man to a gurney, believing that the device could revive a dead man like he had seen on TV at the time. The paramedic had told him that no, it didn't work that way, and was only used to restart the heart like one would do with a computer, or a game console. The person still had to be alive to use it.

But they didn't have a defibrillator on them; they didn't think to carry one either. So what were they...damn, he was going to have to improvise.

Holding one of his escrima, he adjusting the voltage to the highest setting he could and hoped that this wouldn't kill the bearded man.

Then he stabbed the escrima down onto Strange's chest, his body bouncing as the large body beneath him jolted from the intense shock.

"What are you doing?" It was one of the others, but he didn't look to see who. He was already checking for a pulse and found that the heart beat was still way too fast.

"I'm trying to reset his heart so we don't have a dead guy on our hands," he snapped back as he readied the escrima once more.

"You seek to save his life?" he heard the ghost man demand, and it sounded like the guy was angry.

"We're not killers and I'm not about to let anyone die on my watch." He pressed the escrima back down on Strange's chest and felt the resulting tremor rock both of their bodies.

"You will not!" the angry and ominous voice declared.

"You're going to have to get through us first!" That sounded like Bluebird there, but he couldn't be sure. Nor was he about to look for confirmation. Damn, Strange was still under cardiac arrest!

There were sounds of a fight, but Nightwing was not going to take his eyes Strange. Even a second's distraction could cost the man his life.

Again and again, he applied the escrima, hoping, praying, that this insane man would respond and leave the danger zone. "Come on!" he hissed as he pressed the crackling end of the escrima down for the nth time, Strange's body jumping beneath him once more.

The costumed man gave a cough, a bunch of fluid exiting his mouth. However, there was a gasp and while there was also quick intakes of air, they were continuous. Feeling out a pulse, relief filled the young man's body as he found a steady pulse, still fast but not like it was before. Strange was out of danger for the time being.

He felt a hand place itself on his shoulder. Looking up, he found Huntress standing by him, giving him an unreadable look. "Are you alright?"

He slowly nodded his head, finding that he himself was short of breath. "Did you get him?"

"Bastard ran away in a puff of smoke. We're not going to risk going after him because none of us have any idea how he's able to disappear like that. Plus the fear toxin he put in the smoke," the female vigilante reported. "So...you saved him?"

"Yeah," he panted. "But he's going to need an ambulance and everything. He's not out of the woods yet and I don't think anybody here knows how he had a heart attack right here and now."

"Why didn't you just let him die?" The question came from Red Hood and Nightwing turned his head to look at the younger male.

"Because we're not killers," he repeated. "We don't take lives, no matter how convenient it would be to look the other way. We're here to save all of Gotham, including the parts of it we don't like. He still has to answer for what he did to Mario Falcone and everything else he's done.

"And it's because that's what Batman would do."


	24. Bane's Ambush

They had left before the cops had stormed the place, SWAT leading the charge. As blue and red lights lit up the street below, a gurney was rolled out of the building with the costumed Hugo Strange strapped to it. He was being rushed to an ambulance and would be taken to the nearest hospital for treatment. Oracle was given the heads up about it and would track down where he would be kept.

All in all it was a victory for the Network. It had been a tough one, what with Strange bulking up with some serum and then the arrival of the Phantasm, but all that mattered was that they had come out on top.

"So what do we do now?" Manhunter spoke up. There was more to that question than met the eye, but almost everyone grasped that implication.

"We need to find where Phantom of the Opera went and stop him before he starts killing people again," Huntress was the one to answer. "The last thing we need is one more killer out on the streets."

"Quick question for the new guys here, but who is this Phantasm guy? It's obvious the vets here know him so what can we expect?" Green Arrow asked.

"Other than what you saw, this guy is hard to capture. When he's not doing vanishing acts, he's killing mobsters and other people," Huntress answered. "He likes fighting on the defensive, doesn't really go on the offensive from what I remember. Well, except for tonight so we can't assume that he'll always try to play it safe. The one thing to always remember is that he has some fear toxin in that smoke and he loves covering himself with it so it's one of those don't get too close kind of deals."

"That sounds real complicated," Manhunter remarked.

"Yeah, why not just pound his ass and be done with it?" Red Hood agreed, punching a fist into the palm of his other hand. It was a bit humorous to see him wince, then tenderly pull his fist away from his palm.

"He showed different abilities this time," Katana stated. "Before he didn't use long-range attacks. He's now a threat at both ranges. There may be others he hasn't shown yet. Until we know for certain what he can do, we need to be careful."

That...was one of the longest things she had ever said and judging by the looks she was getting, most people agreed with that sentiment.

"What about Bane?" Red Hood asked. "We can't ignore him for this new guy. What are we going to do with him?"

"Nothing right now. We're still trying to handle people who can increase their strength. You heard what that Phantasm guy said back there. Strange used Venom, the same stuff Bane uses, as the basis for his stuff. That Monster Man drug," Nightwing decided. "We still need to find where his caches are so we can start starving him."

"More of that bullshit?" the younger vigilante drown.

"It's that bullshit that will keep us alive," Huntress retorted. "Besides, there's something else we need to think about."

"And what's that?" Nightwing questioned, frowning.

"You all saw what happened. The bastard was claiming to be Batman's successor," Huntress pointed out, gesturing with a hand in the direction of the museum. "And he's not the only one. Remember that Ghul guy? The one that said that Gotham was under his protection? And then there's us. There's a lot of people trying to fill Batman's shoes and not all of them are in it because they have noble intentions."

"You know, for a moment, I thought that Phantasm was him, when he was coming out of that smoke. You think he might be a contender too?" Green Arrow mused aloud.

"Another thing we needed, right," the purple-clad vigilante grumbled.

"So are you saying there's like a battle for the cowl?" Manhunter summed up.

"And while Bane's doing his damnedest to take over," Nightwing added as the implications became clear to him.

It was only natural that someone would try to pick up where Batman left off, right? Almost everyone here was inspired in one way or another by the man. It stood to reason that there were others, some of whom were as deluded as Strange. Christ, this was a lot to think about.

The night was young, though, and they still had work to do. Even if they were all tired, Bane was still out there along with so many other people that they needed to stop. The never-ending fight would only continue from here.

* * *

Staring at the gurney that held Hugo Strange, Commissioner Gordon's face hardened at the sight. He said nothing, not taking his eyes off the injured man even when the doors to the ambulance blocked him from his gaze.

As officers cordoned off the building and squad cars led the procession that protected Strange's ambulance, the Commissioner turned away and left quietly, not letting anyone know that he was leaving.

Anyone who saw him and asked for what he wanted were ignored. Even Sarah was, and she could only watch as he left the scene.

It wouldn't be long for those in the department to begin gossip-mongering.

Eventually, Gordon reached his car and opened the driver's door. Sliding into the seat, he slammed the door closed behind him. He didn't bother starting the car; he just sat there, staring out of windshield. He couldn't say he was watching his officers work the crime scene as his eyes glazed over. His head leaned forward as he closed his eyes.

There was something inside of him, burning, furious. He could feel it urging him to lash out. He couldn't do that, wouldn't do it in front of his officers. He had to maintain his composure, even though he wanted nothing more than to march right up to Strange's prone body and strangle him.

The sight of the Bat costume on him was insulting. It galled him. He knew Strange had a sick fascination with Batman, but to the point of wanting to be him? He hadn't expected the shameful shrink to go that far, but then he wasn't too surprised either.

And that was what upset him most.

Gordon was not delusional. He knew just how precarious this city was, how it relied on Batman like a crutch. Gotham was staggering now, unable to keep itself up. It had refused its medication, opting for the easier path of using one man to hold itself up. Competent police work was what it needed. A court system that wasn't jammed with a fifteen year backlog was what it needed. Corruption needed to not be tolerated, from the flatfoots on the street to the Goddamn Mayor's office. Businesses needed to be more involved; hell, high society needed to be more generous. Reform had been needed, but what had they done?

Batman. They counted on Batman to clean up the streets. They counted on Batman to make sure the corrupted didn't rob victims of justice. In fact, the vigilante had been the one expected to hunt down the corrupted and bring them to their knees before a judge.

But now there was no choice but to go on. There was no fake death here. Gotham needed to do the hard thing and stand for itself.

Unfortunately, Strange was a sign. He was a sign that he wouldn't be the first to put on a cowl and cape and try to replace Batman. It had happened before and it would happen again. Hell, there were already other vigilantes that were following in his example. Nevermind that example was one of breaking the law, taking it away from those who upheld it and applying to all but themselves.

This endless cycle needed to stop.

Gordon opened his eyes, a look of determination on them. Opening the car door, he climbed out of the vehicle and marched over to his men. Sarah spotted him and stopped what she was doing. Others noticed this and came to a halt as well, watching his approach.

"I want APBs out," Gordon ordered, his voice brokering no disagreement. "We are the law in this city and I will not stand for anymore lawbreaking. We know we need to find Bane and stop him. That's not all we need to do. Anyone that takes the law into their own hands, who put on a mask instead of a badge, needs to be taken down. No more vigilantism; no more capes and cowls and masks. Only men and women who have taken the oath can deliver justice."

"Jim, are you saying…" Sarah trailed off, eyes wide.

Gordon immediately gave a sharp nod. "Arrest anyone and everyone you have to. Bane preferably, but if you find any of these other vigilantes, I want them in jail before the night is out. I want names and profiles, people.

"Starting tonight, Gotham is protected by the Law and no one else."

* * *

The Industrial Area of Gotham was much like those of other cities. Regardless of their locale, they were magnets for grime and pollution.

Ra's al Ghul despised these places.

If there was ever a place that represented the human condition and its effect on the planet, it was this place. Once a sprawling center of industry, it was now a shell of its former glory, rotting away and leaving its surroundings worse for it. It was a poison that killed its home, an ugly scar on the face of Earth.

He had been drawn to this place at the challenge of his prey. The Demon's Fang had flooded the surrounding area on high alert for a trap. Undoubtedly, Bane wanted a direct confrontation with him, seeing it as the shortest path to eliminate an obstacle. Ra's could not fault the man for such a tactic since it was also an opportunity for him to do the same. The fate of Gotham rested on the outcome of this battle.

Ubu was at his right, eyes narrowed and scanning for the enemy like a good soldier. To the left was Talia and her charge, a sign of his confidence in tonight's expected victory. No danger would come to them this night.

"Master, still no sign of the enemy," Ubu informed him then.

"They are out here," Ra's assured the manservant. He was counting on the designated location of their meeting to be surrounded by Bane's men. No way would any fighting occur inside the warehouse unless it spilled inside. Continuing his pace, he moved down the alleyway he found himself in, leading the column of assassins. There were others along the rooftops to either side of him, behind and up ahead. The main force would not be in any danger.

That's when he heard it, the sound of machine gun fire. Turning around, Ra's faced the direction he had come from along with his host. An attack from the rear? How typical. His men would repel the attack and go on the—

Suddenly, more gunfire erupted to his left. There were screams as an assassin toppled off the roof of the building next to him, falling to land on top of his men. A moment later, more machine guns went off to the right.

It seemed they had sprung the trap.

"We must press forward," Ubu urged to his master. "We are in too vulnerable a position."

This was true. With a gesture, several of his assassins rushed passed him, even as the Demon's Head turned to face his original direction once more. The men darted out of the mouth of the alleyway and into the street beyond.

Immediately, more gunfire started and the charging men were assaulted with hot lead. Their running came to a halt as their bodies jerked in every direction, their momentum causing them to continue moving forward until they collapsed on the ground.

Ra's frowned. That had been unexpected. Without having to sound a word, more assassins moved around him, but this time positioned themselves close to the mouth of the alleyway. Each one was carrying a machine gun, clutched tightly in their hands. There was no need for words between any of the men as they popped out of the alley and began firing their weapons. They immediately jerked back as return fire occurred, the men waiting for a lull before they again fired their guns, this time moving out into the street and finding cover behind abandoned cars, streetlamps, or mailboxes.

"Status," Ra's demanded as he glanced to Ubu. He didn't bother sparing a look to Talia, who had instinctively clutched the child to her person.

Ubu had a hand to his ear, undoubtedly listening to the reports his men were funneling to them. "The rear attack is at a stalemate. We are currently repelling the attack to the west. The east group is losing ground."

Talia then spun her head around to the rest of the men behind them. More had taken up the space left behind by the men pushing forward. "Reinforce the east team," she ordered, which caused several of the men to immediately begin scaling the wall next to them.

She then looked to Ra's. "These attacks are too close, Father," she spoke. "How were they not detected?"

That was a fair question. They had advanced groups searching the area around them. They should have discovered these hidden groups of mercenaries before they arrived. The only explanation was that the scouts had been spotted and eliminated long before their arrival. If that was indeed the case, then the scouts had received their punishment for failure. They would have to make adjustments, then press forward.

Such was his will.

* * *

The sight of gunfire lit up the night with flashes of light. For several blocks in any direction, these flashes burned through the night, forming a crude circle.

Stationed on a water tower far from the action, Bird held a pair of binoculars in front of his eyes as he kneeled on the metal surface, scanning the battlefield. As planned, once the ninjas had arrived—albeit with numbers Bird had been astonished to see—Bane's mercenaries had taken position behind the masked men to the north and waited until the ninja leader had entered the alleyway by Warehouse #32. These ninjas would never make it to #39.

There had been scouts, naturally, all of whom Bird had picked out and alerted his men. The scouts had been dispatched easily and left to rot. That allowed them to surround the main ninja force on the east and west sides. Then, of course, there was the group waiting for the ninjas to run right into them to the south.

The initial attack had taken out many of the ninjas stationed on the rooftops. Their counterattack was currently underway, but that was expected. So far, everything Bane had anticipated was going according to plan.

Bird let go of his binoculars with one so that he could pick up and raise a walkie-talkie to his mouth. "Bane, the guest of honor is here," he quickly reported. He had seen the man in the green cloak at the head of the ninja horde, along with his giant right hand man and a woman. She had a killer body, though her hair disappointingly hid her face from his view. Oddly enough, she had a kid at her side.

Strange place to bring a child.

" _Is he in position?"_ was Bane's response.

"He's currently at the ambush point, right where you wanted him. His men are pushing off our guys to the west and holding us to the north. We're starting to put pressure to the east," Bird answered.

" _I asked if he is in position, not what is happening."_

"Yeah, he's in position." Or at least as close as they wanted him.

" _Then start the next phase."_

"With pleasure." Bird then lowered his binoculars to rest at his feet, adjusting the channel on the walkie-talkie. "Beta team, you have a go," he spoke.

" _Beta team is a go,"_ came the response.

Changing the channel back to the original one, Bird then placed the radio into his pocket, picking up the binoculars again. "Alright, assholes, lets see how you handle this," he muttered to himself.

* * *

Samir ducked behind the air conditioning unit, bullets striking the square unit rapidly. Sparks burst from each contact between metal and lead. Samir didn't bother peeking out from behind his cover.

The attack had come out of nowhere. Many of his comrades had been mowed down during the initial attack, leaving him and a handful of other assassins ducking for cover. Their attempts at counterattacking had fared as well as one would think—meaning not at all. Reinforcements had come to assist them, but so far their numbers were steadily decreasing.

Handgun in one hand, Samir waited for a lull in the gunfire, breathing out of his mouth over and over. His lips were pursed in an attempt to slow his breaths down, but all he was really doing was maintaining the same rate.

Then the lull came. Immediately, Samir shot his gun hand out, pointing it in the direction of the enemy. He squeezed the trigger once, twice, his shots firing. Then he jerked his hand back just in time for a barrage of more bullets to rip into the side of the a/c unit, an explosion of sparks cascading out in all directions.

Samir cursed under his breath, the word itself getting lost in the racket the gunfire made. He had no doubt he didn't hit a single target mostly because he hadn't bothered to poke his head out from behind his cover. He had fired blindly, hoping to hit someone and knowing fully well there was no promise without looking. He was effectively pinned down.

Looking towards one of his comrades, Samir unfortunately watched as the man was gunned down, blood exploding into a red mist out of his back. His body collapsed to the ground a moment later.

Damn it! They were dying from a thousand cuts! They didn't have nearly enough men for this sort of defense, much less an offensive. Unfortunately, the Great Demon's Head did not accept failure. Either they succeeded, or died with honor while failing.

He needed to find another cover, perhaps regroup closer to the main force so that they could push back against this assault.

There was a sound, dull, but it could be faintly heard in spite of the constant drone of gunfire. It made Samir pause, focusing on his hearing to make sure he knew what this sound was. It was very familiar and close by considering the primary racket being made. Twisting and turning his head from side to side, searching for the source.

That's when he saw it. It moved through the air like a black wraith, the beating of its propellers a steady drone that grew louder as it drew near. A sinking feeling filled Samir's gut.

That was a helicopter and he was fairly certain it wasn't the Master's. So if it did not belong to his master, then it logically belonged to either the enemy, or a third party.

This was going to get very ugly.

* * *

Ra's was displeased. He was still in the same alley, still hearing the sound of enemy gunfire, not the least abated. It was keeping him in a stalemate as intended by Bane's trap. While he had known this is what was planned, he had counted on his forces being able to undermine such tactics.

It appeared he was wrong and he did _not_ like being wrong.

And though his world was limited to the brick walls on either side of him, the mouth of the alleyway revealed a little more. For example, he could hear the sound of rotor blades spinning, which was confirmed by the first sighting of a black helicopter. Watching, he saw the aircraft fly overhead before it began to turn to the right, beginning to hover.

That was when it unleashed unholy hell, its misappropriately named minigun blasting high velocity rounds into his forces. The men did not stand a chance as they were mowed down by the machine gun fire. Bullets ripped through flesh and kevlar, blood exploding in all directions as bodies became corpses, plopping down on the blood-painted ground.

"Master!" Ubu cried out. "We are at a disadvantage! We must leave this area!"

Even as the helicopter stopped firing and flew off, no doubt circling around for another shot at his assassins, Ra's considered this new development. He had not been informed of the enemy's possession of an aircraft—a costly mistake. Bane clearly had the higher ground since the helicopter could only be his. As galling as it was, it was best to withdraw than be eliminated.

"Sound the retreat," he calmly ordered, though his steely face betrayed the infuriation he felt in spite of his controlled tone. The Demon's Head did not experience defeat willingly.

Immediately, Ubu was calling out the order over their radio frequency, spending only a few seconds on that before he turned his attention to what was more important matters. "Master, we must see you to safety first."

And as it so happened, one of the men from their southern front approached. "Sir, we have secured the south," an assassin reported. "The enemy is withdrawing."

Excellent. Though it was counter-intuitive to move forward when retreating, the presence of the attacking helicopter dictated his next move. He needed to seek shelter, be it one of these warehouses, or in the sewers for safe transit. Such options were not present in this location. "Cover us," Ra's ordered as he strode towards the mouth of the alley.

Emerging onto the street, Ra's scanned the area, seeing no sight of the helicopter or Bane's men. At a steady, yet quick pace, he walked across the pavement, Talia and her child behind him and to his left. Many of his men darted out in front of him, forming a security line. None were firing their weapons, though they kept their full attention on the surrounding buildings.

Ra's couldn't help but narrow his eyes. There should have been a stronger attack from this side. The north front had cut them off from the direction they had come from and the east and west fronts had pincered them in. Why was the south front so flimsily guarded?

Reaching the other side of the street, Ra's and his party entered the new alley, though came to a stop soon after. "Master, I will see to the retreat of our forces," Ubu informed him, raising an arm up so that it could cross over his chest, positioning his fist above his heart.

"As you wish," Ra's replied, stopping only to glance at the manservant over his shoulder. "We will rendezvous back at the tower."

"Yes, Master."

Turning away, Ra's continued down the alley, though he did not get too far. Suddenly, at the other end of the alleyway, the helicopter appeared, its profile towards him and his men. It hovered there, tilting downward just before it fired its minigun. The first shots hit at the end of the alley and as the aircraft tilted in the other direction, the shots began working their way towards the Demon. Smoke and dust shot up into the air as each bullets broke the ground, each shot closer than the last.

"Father!" Talia cried out.

Ra's turned his head to his left, spying a a set of double doors that were locked by a metal chain and padlock, the chain wrapped through the door handles. Flinging open his green cloak, Ra's drew out his sword, the sharp edge scraping against the inside of the scabbard. Once freed, he arced the blade up above his head then swung it down, his sword slicing through the chain. Immediately, the chain went slack, which Talia promptly reached out and grabbed, pulling it through. She threw the metal restraint to the ground and quickly flung open one of the doors, all but shoving the child through them. Once she passed through, Ra's followed right after her.

Unfortunately for the rest of his men, the gunfire from the helicopter reached them, the men crying out as they were gunned down. A cloud of smoke raced by like a curtain, blocking out the sight of the alley. Allowing the door to close behind them, they were now safely out of harm's way, hidden from sight of the helicopter.

The room they currently stood in was an abandoned storage facility. It was empty, revealing wooden floors and wooden support beams at even intervals in the middle of the room, beginning a short distance away from Ra's and forming a line all the way to the opposite side. There were cobwebs in every corner, draped along the walls like curtains, wrapping around the support beams like a second skin, and hanging from rafters.

The very sight of it disgusted Ra's.

"What are we to do, Father?" Talia asked him then, stirring him out of his thoughts. "We are pinned here."

"We press forward," he answered her succinctly. "Currently we are out of sight of the enemy. We shall search for a way out of this, even if we have to use every single building from here to Amusement Mile as cover."

"Very well." Talia moved, keeping a hand on the child's shoulders. The two led the way towards the other end of the warehouse, Ra's following them from behind. He slid his sword back into its sheath, allowing his cloak to envelop his body.

That was when he heard it. It was not subtle, but loud. Something large landed on the floor somewhere behind him, a loud _THUD_ echoing throughout the room.

Immediately, Ra's twisted his head around, turning so that he stood at his profile. Between him and the entrance was a large, masked man, one the Demon recognized as Bane. He was raising to his full, rather impressive height. The wooden floor was broken, sharp pieces of the floorboards jutting up around his feet. Ra's had to admire his entrance.

However, there was a dark, loathsome thought that festered within the ancient man's mind. Once it had made itself known, he could not help but see its truth. He had been manipulated, led to this spot like a horse to water and he had been none the wiser. This brute had trapped him, then gave him the only route out so that they would meet here.

Clearly there was a brilliant mind contained within this walking muscle man.

"You are the leader of the opposition," Bane spoke, his voice rumbling from deep within his chest. "This is the first time we meet and I intend for it to be the last."


	25. Bane vs Ra's al Ghul vs Joker

It had been a long time since Ra's had been outmaneuvered by a foe. Napoleon had been one such person, someone the ancient one could look back fondly and recount the multitude of skirmishes between them.

Bane had just placed himself among such giants this night. Either Ra's had underestimated the man's intelligence, or he had allowed his own arrogance to blind him; either way, he had committed a grave error.

"Bane," he greeted the masked man stoically.

"I am," he acknowledged. "You, on the other hand, are a mystery to me. You and your traveling companions."

The Demon's Head tilted his head to a side to regard Talia and the child, the former openly scowling at Bane. Actually, the boy was too, but that was the expression that was chiseled into his flesh. Rarely did that scowl leave his face. Their identical expressions, however, were not all that hard to determine the cause for.

"I am known as Ra's al Ghul," he then informed the towering hulk, returning his attention to him. "The leader of the Demon's Fang."

He was not surprised to see a lack of surprise on Bane's face, though his mask disguised them anyways. It was Bane's body language that he studied and it betrayed no astonishment. Ra's had worked tirelessly to bury his organization in the shadows, so a man from a remote Caribbean island would have never heard of him.

Bane ultimately nodded his acknowledgement of the introduction. "I assume you wish to conquer Gotham now that its guardian had been discarded, yes?"

"Perhaps. All you need to know is that I wish to pay my respects to that guardian you broke. It is in his name that I defend this city against your scourge."

Bane shifted his body, a sign to Ra's that he did not believe him and in fact seemed amused. "Do not deceive a fellow conqueror, al Ghul. I know my kind all too well and we are one and the same. You want this city as your own, much like I do."

"Do not presume you are my father's equal," Talia snapped then, her voice betraying her anger. "He is a man beyond you in every facet."

"That's enough, Talia," Ra's interjected, tilting his head so that he could shoot her a silencing stare.

"I believe you are overestimating your father, señorita," Bane replied, not the least bit offended. "I am Bane and I break all those who oppose me."

"Then it is battle you wish to commence." Ra's opened his cloak to reveal his sword hanging from the belt at his waist. "This is my weapon and my choice for a duel. Do you accept these conditions?"

"If you are indicating a sword duel, I would were it not for my lack of arms."

Ra's did not have to utter a word. Immediately, Talia unsheathed a sword that had been hidden behind her back. The Demon's Head held his hand out, to which his daughter approach, resting the hilt in his palm. With his other hand, he drew his own sword, flipping his grip so that he held the blade upside down. At once, he tossed the swords to Bane, who caught each with his hands. "Choose your weapon."

Bane seemed to studied the blades before he tossed Ra's sword back to him, the older man catching it as easily as the brute had moments earlier. "You may keep your sword, old one. I want all to know that you kept your advantage even as you fell before me."

 _Fool._ He had granted this man the opportunity to even the playing field and he had cast that generosity aside. Ra's was never one to deny himself an advantage, especially when his opponent gave it to him. Though he was competent with every sword known to man, there was something to be said about the fit and grip of the hilt and the weight of the blade. His sword, custom-made for him from its tip to the snake head that formed the pommel, was a mere extension of himself.

Raising up his blade, he held it parallel to the floor, the tip pointed to Bane as the underside of his hand faced upwards towards the ceiling. He held his other hand behind him as he stood with his profile to his foe, spreading his legs apart. "You may have the first move."

Bane assumed an _en garde_ pose, indicating some familiarity with the sword. His footwork needed some adjustment as he shuffled forward across the wooden floor, Ra's was quick to note.

Once the distance between them was gone, Bane struck, arcing his sword arm out wide before slashing it inward for Ra's head. In response, the Demon's Head flicked his wrist, his arm twisting around until the underside was facing the floor. There was a clash as steel met steel. Both blades bounced off each other, though Ra's sword was flung back further than Bane's.

"Raaaahhhh!" Bane roared as he again struck with his blade, again aiming for a headstrike. Ra's ducked the swing, feeling it fly by harmlessly as a breeze ruffled his hair. With a simple twitch, Ra's sword shot upwards, leaving a red mark along Bane's bicep, a shallow cut, but one that would get his attention.

That proved to be true as Bane jumped backwards, keeping his sword tip pointed towards Ra's while he moved his other hand to inspect the wound. This caused his head to turn so that he could regard the scratch, a fatal error in judgement. Much like the simple gesture he had made to counter his foe, Ra's did the same, only he beat aside Bane's sword before making his own strike for the masked man's head.

Though surprised, Bane managed to recover faster than expected, moving his sword back to block the blow. Then with great strength, he shoved Ra's blade back, purposefully moving his sword arm out before swinging back inward, this time going for a body blow. Easily, Ra's blocked and parried the strike, though he was quick to note the strain his arm felt from such a maneuver.

Bane was strong, this much he knew prior to their meeting. The man was using this strength to overpower him with his every attack. Undoubtedly this strategy had served him well in battles past. Brute strength would not win him this day, however.

Arcing his sword upward, Bane then swung his weapon down to slice Ra's in two from head to foot. Again, Ra's blocked the blow, positing his sword above his head in a high block stance. He was successful in this maneuver, allowing the force of the blow to drop him down, his knees bending as a result. Undoubtedly, Bane would assume his adjustment in stance was due to his strength.

Immediately, Ra's lashed out with his leg, landing a side-swinging kick against the side of Bane's knee. The larger man cried out in pain and surprise as his leg buckled. Quick as a whip, Ra's slashed at Bane's chest, leaving a horizontal cut along his pectorals. The masked man stumbled backwards from the wound, attempting to put some distance between them.

Ra's would have none of that. He pressed his attack on his unsteady foe, thrusting for his abdomen. In response, Bane swung his sword down to beat the thrust aside, one in which Ra's allowed, if only to flick his wrist and deliver another cut to his foe's sword arm, this time leaving a cut along his forearm. A hiss escaped from the man's mouth at this.

Continuing to raise his sword up, Ra's again rotated his wrist as he went for a slash for Bane's head, an attack the man jerked his head back to avoid, the tip of the blade barely missing him. The brute's sword returned to the duel, slashing for Ra's shoulder, which he immediately blocked.

Bane went on the offensive then, sending a sword strike for Ra's other shoulder, then the chest on the opposite side, then again reversing, aiming for the opposite hip. Ra's calmly blocked each attack before he parried the last, slashing diagonally at Bane and leaving another cut, one that started at the lower left side of the abdomen and crossed upwards, ending at the upper right side.

Bane backed off then, this time not dropping his attention. Ra's did not press the attack this time.

"You are quite skilled," Bane complimented him, adjusting his grip on the sword even as he seemed to rock back and forth on his feet, shifting his stance. "I believe I have underestimated you."

"You are not the first to make that mistake," Ra's replied. "Nor will you be the last."

Indeed, this was merely child's play. It was quite clear now that Bane had rudimentary skills when it came to the sword. So far the Demon's Head had been content to give him a death by a thousand cuts. Each one that marred the larger man's sword arm and torso were shallow at best, small stings that would clot within minutes, but heal into scars days later.

Regardless, it was clear whom the better man was. It was time to end this duel.

* * *

The manhole cover rattled. One end tipped up before the tipped end rotated to the other end. Then one side completely raised up, allowing the foul stench of the sewer out into the stale air. A pair of hands held the lid up until a head appeared.

"Sweet mother of God, that is some good oxygen!" Bat-Joker gasped as he hauled himself out of the sewer. He shoved the manhole cover to a side and crawled across the wooden floor until he was fully saved from the suffocating sewer stench.

There was no telling how long he had been down there. In all honesty, he had lost all track of time.

His big time clue he found, and then caused the destruction of the GothCorp lab, had led him here. Well, it had been this general area to be precise _and then_ more clues found here—ones he did not care very much for, thank you—led him into the sewers. That had turned out to be a bust. Unfortunately, he had gotten lost and had been trying to find his way out ever since. It could've been five minutes, it could've been five days. He had learned things about himself that he didn't care to repeat and found things the rest of the world had no clue about.

Things that will never be mentioned again…

As he kept breathing, sucking in the sweet, delicious air that wasn't contaminated by waste products, he heard something. Slowly rising his head, he saw people; one, two, three, aaaaand four to be exact. They were talking about something that seemed important to them.

And then two of them began attacking each other with swords.

Bat-Joker's head shot up, which incidentally caused his back to bend at an awkward angle, then promptly forced him to lay back down. Pushing himself up, he scrambled onto his feet and watched with wide eyes.

There were some support beams that got in his way, but eventually he could make out a muscle-bound giant, showing off his marvelous body with a leotard. There was a wrestling mask on the man's head and Bat-Joker had to ponder where he had heard such a description. And then something clicked in his head.

Holy Wrestlemania, Bat-Joker! That was Bane! The big, bad, hunk of steroids that had snapped Batsy's spine like a matchstick! And he was here, getting cut up by some old geezer who—if you asked him—looked like one sinister dude. Those regal features, high cheekbones, and upturned nose could only mean one thing.

He was a One Percenter.

Egads! Those guys were evil by definition! So why was Bane-of-his-existence fighting with a country club alum? They were both bad guys, so thus they should be working together. That's when Bat-Joker's eyes fell onto the other two people.

No, this was too much. There was a woman with a nice derriere, if he didn't say so himself, and a little boy. The woman was clutching at the child, indicating she was clearly afraid of the two bad guys. And then it hit him.

The woman and the kid were hostages! And both Bane and the senior citizen were fighting for them! There was no telling who the hostage-taker was, or who was trying to steal the hostages, but it was quite clear these two were fighting for the right to keep them.

It was clear what Bat-Joker had to do. He had to save them and save them he would. Now, it was in his experience that frightened people had the nasty habit of squirming when scared and being rescued. They would either fight back or suffocate the person trying to rescue them. That was something he did not need, so logically he needed to knock them out to spare him that problem.

Carefully, Bat-Joker sneaked his way through the rather dusty warehouse room. So far, Bane and the old guy were completely focused on each other that they didn't notice him. So far, so good.

Before he or anyone else knew it, he was right behind the woman and the child. Carefully, oh so carefully, Bat-Joker reached to his belt and pulled out the very tool he needed to knock these two out. Once he had it in hand, he raised it high above his head.

His ever-faithful rubber chicken.

"You are not the first to make that mistake nor will you be the last," the geezer was saying, Bane staring at him despite the lovely cuts on his muscle-y body. Good, they were still focused on each other

And then Bat-Joker swung the rubber chicken down, hitting the boy against the back of his head. The kid cried out before he crumpled to the floor unconscious. Instantly, the woman snapped her head to him, her long brown hair whipping around her head to fly over her shoulder, a curiously enraged look on her face.

Before she could so much as thank him for his service—or snarl, that was very possible now that he thought about it—Bat-Joker swung the lead-filled rubber chicken and clocked her against the back of her head, knocking her out as well. Like the kid before her, she collapsed to the floor.

There, half of his work was done. Now he just needed to—

"What do you think you're doing?!"

Jerking his head up, Bat-Joker discovered he was now the center of attention. Both the old guy and Bane were looking right at him, rage twisting the older man's face, his baby blue eyes flashing with steel. Hmm, was it just him or did that face look familiar?

Bat-Joker snapped his fingers. Of course! That was the look Batsy gave him just before they took the plunge into the fires of Hell! Good times!

However, he had just been asked a question and it was his duty to answer. "Why, I was just saving these poor saps from the forces of evil! And by evil, I mean you two gents, no offense."

"What _are_ you wearing?" Bane asked, sounding quite incredulous.

Well, that wasn't the question he was looking for, but it made a good segway. "Why, this is crime fighting gear, high-tech, and street friendly. For you see, I am no Average Joe. Nope, nope, nope, I am something... _more."_

Grabbing onto the ends of his cape, he pulled them around him, one hanging around his belly while the other covered his mouth...face...everything below his eyes. "I am the revenge of weak-minded souls, the ones that whine for justice! I am the twilight of the night that doesn't sparkle!"

He then threw his cape wide open, fists pressed into his hips as he posed.

"I am Bat-Joker!"

There was totally silence before the old man completely turned to face him, his nifty little sword tightly grasped in his hand at his side. "You _dare_ soil the good name of the Detective?" he seethed as he began marching towards the vigilante clown. "You, who have no right to uphold his mantle? Then you attack my progeny? You have crossed Ra's al Ghul, the Demon's Head and I will have your head for it!"

Lightning fast, Al Ghoul swung his sword at Bat-Joker, startling him. Instinctively, he held his rubber chicken up to defend himself, only for the sword to cleanly slice right through it. Half of the chicken fell to the floor while a large piece of lead clunked down with it.

"Horace, no!" Bat-Joker cried out.

Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to worry about...Horace, _sniff._..as Al Ghoul attacked him again. Bat-Joker ducked down as the old man's sword swung over his head. Geez, you would've thought this guy was trying to chop his head right off.

However, because of this, he saw something flying right for Ghouly's head. Eyes comically widening, he pointed and shouted, "Watch out!"

Without breaking a sweat, Al Ghoul spun around and lashed out with his sword, knocking aside a flying sword that had been aimed right for his skull.

A moment later and Bane rammed into the aging gent, arms wrapping around his body as he tackled him, lifting Al Ghoul right off the floor. Ghoul dropped his sword, leaving it to fall to the floor right next to Bat-Joker. Following them, he watched as Bane kept running until he slammed Al Ghoul's back right up against a support beam.

Now that was no way to treat the elderly!

* * *

Ra's felt his the wooden support beam ram into his back, the ancient one grimacing from the pain shooting up his spine. Bane had him pinned to the beam with his upper body, which allowed him to draw a fist back.

"Hazzah!" the insane clown cried out then, coming in from behind Bane with a rotting club in hand. He must have found it somewhere in this deserted place, not that it really mattered. Sliding in low, he cracked the club against the back of Bane's knee, causing it to buckle as the larger man grunted, his upper body pulling back from Ra's as he leaned backwards.

That was all the opening he needed. As quick as a cobra, Ra's shot a palm strike upward, ramming his palm beneath Bane's chin and causing his head to snap back. The brute stumbled backwards, allowing Ra's to drop to his feet on the floor, though he used the support beam behind him to steady himself.

That was when the Joker came flying back into view, this time from Ra's right. Club still in hand, he swung it with great velocity, clubbing Bane against the side of his head, dropping the man to the floor.

"That's another blow struck for the good guys!" he crowed.

Immediately, Ra's scowled. His disgust with this man knew no boundaries. In an instant, he strode to the man, raising his hands up before him and crossing them at his wrists to form an X, his fingers pressed stiffly together. Joker tilted his head to regarded him, dumbly extending a hand out to him as if he were receiving a handshake. "Put 'em there, chum!"

In response, Ra's attacked, striking with his left hand to bat aside the Joker's offered hand, then quickly following up with chop with his right to the pale man's throat. The Joker jerked backwards even as he gagged. Hands returning to him, the Demon's Head prepared for another strike.

Only for something to slam right into his side, knocking him clear off his feet. With a cry, Ra's went tumbling to the floor, rolling across it until he came to a stop. Jerking his head up, he saw Bane lowering his foot, the source of the surprise attack. The moment his foot touched down, the hulk had his left arm crossed over his body, right before he swung it back across, backhanding the Joker and sending him careening through the air well.

"You are in the way, interloper," Bane growled as he fully faced the Joker, who had hit the ground soon after, bouncing across it until he too came to a stop. "You I will squash first."

It seemed Bane was underestimating his recovery time. That was fine by him. Pushing himself up onto his feet, even as his larger foe stalked towards the clown, Ra's undid the clasp to his cloak, allowing it to fall to his feet. Reaching to the waistband of his pants, he found two sheaths, the handles of two long knives reaching out from their openings. Grabbing the hilts, he drew the daggers and silently chased after Bane.

The masked man had come to stand over the fallen Joker, gazing upon him if only for a moment. Then he placed his weight on one leg as he raised the other, attempting to stomp the helpless man into pulp.

There was his opening. Darting forward, Ra's stabbed one of his long knives right into his lower back. "Ahhhhhhhh!" Bane cried out as he dropped his raised leg back to the floor, touching down behind his grounded one.

And then the brute twisted his body, a raised arm held at shoulder height, bent at the elbow. Immediately, Ra's ducked as the elbow flew over his head, the Demon ready with his other knife to stab his foe right in the gut.

However, it seemed Bane was expecting this as he pivoted on his feet. His backward elbow strike had been a feint as his true attack was coming with the power of a freight train. Ra's only saw the fist coming for him and the next instant it was in his face. Pain exploded throughout his face as he went flying backwards, blood shooting out of his nose and mouth.

For a moment, Ra's lost consciousness if only for a moment. He was only aware of darkness, but soon his sight returned and he found himself lying on his back on the floor, a constant throb in his face, particularly his nose. It was a wonder it wasn't broken.

He felt vibrations through the floorboards, alerting the older man to footsteps. Jerking his head up, he saw Bane stumbling around him, walking a circular path until he stopped perhaps a quarter of the circuit.

* * *

It was a constant pain. Try as he might, Bane reached for his back, but could not reach the knife that was protruding from it.

Internally, Bane reprimanded himself. He had dropped his guard against this Ra's al Ghul and the man had made him pay the price. First, he had demonstrated his skill with the sword, which the masked man conceded he was the better man. Then Gotham's infamous resident interfered with their duel, dressed in a crude version of the Bat's costume.

All of that he could excuse himself. What was galling was that he turned his back on al Ghul to dispose of the Joker. Perhaps he thought his kick was sufficient enough to leave the much older man stunned long enough to rid them of their interloper. Now he was stabbed in the back, along with the other cuts Ra's al Ghul had decorated his body with.

Focusing his attention on al Ghul, he saw the older man standing on his feet, another long knife in his hand. If his skill with the sword was anything to go by, then he was fully capable of wielding that dagger as well. He needed to be careful lest he put himself in another compromising position.

Then something small and black flew through his vision. It hit Ra's al Ghul's hand, knocking his weapon out of his grasp. There were two sounds made, one of the knife clattering across the floor and the other, more solid object bouncing as well. Looking to it, Bane couldn't help but blink his eyes in bewilderment.

Was that a television remote?

"Hey! Old guy!" an enraged voice shouted, causing both al Ghul and Bane to look to its source. Standing on his feet was the Joker, teeth bared from anger. "What's the big idea hitting the very guy helping your ass? Huh?! If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were a sore loser about being upstaged!"

"Madman," Ra's al Ghul spat back, hiding none of his distaste for the other man. Bane was in agreement with that feeling.

"Ingrate!" the Joker shouted back.

"I will see to it that this will be your last night, clown," al Ghul responded heatedly. "Mark my words."

"I would, but I get the feeling you've said that about E.D. too."

The insult notwithstanding—though that was a very low blow, even for the insane clown—Bane could see al Ghul was distracted by their unwanted company and decided to take a page from the older man's book. He lunged towards him, a fist drawn back. He swung it an instant later.

In response, al Ghul leaped backwards, disputing the notion he was unaware of the masked man's presence. Though his punch missed, it did not stop Bane from throwing another, this too missing as al Ghul backpedaled..

What stopped him from throwing a third punch, however, was something yanking hard on the tube connected to the back of his head. "Hands off, buddy!" the Joker snarled as he pulled down again on the Venom tube. "I got dibs on Ghoulie over there!"

Immediately, Bane twisted his torso, attempting to backhand the clown much like he had down earlier. This time, the Joker jumped back, avoiding the blow as it sailed harmlessly through the air.

That was when Ra's al Ghul struck, though not at Bane this time. Instead he went for a side kick, one the Joker surprisingly blocked as both of his arms shot up, taking the brunt of the kick with his forearm. "Bad form," he growled sinisterly as he glared at al Ghul.

The Demon was undeterred. Even as he lowered his leg back down, he was thrusting with a palm strike to the clown's cowled face. In response, the Joker jumped backwards, one of his hands disappearing behind his back, only to reemerge with a small sack in his grasp. With a jerk of his hand, small, metal caltrops flew out of the bag, decorating the floor between him and al Ghul, causing the older man to skid to a stop. This allowed the Joker to continued stepping backwards several more paces, putting some distance between them.

This also granted Bane an opportunity. Lowering his shoulder, he charged forward, ramming into Ra's al Ghul's back with as much force as he could gather. The old man cried out as he went sailing over the caltrops, flying right towards the Joker. In response, the man stepped to one side, but raised an arm up, clotheslining al Ghul and sending him flipping through the air until he landed on the ground.

"That's what I call teamwork!" the Joker exclaimed, right before his eyes settled on Bane. With one mighty jump, the masked man passed over the short field of caltrops. "Oh, you again."

Flinging his arm at him, the Joker threw his empty bag, one that softly slapped against Bane's face and fell to the floor. It was pitiful really. At least, that was his thought until he saw the Joker pulling out a massive handgun and pointed it right at him.

With a squeeze of the trigger, a loud _BANG!_ echoed throughout the room. However, it was not a bullet that hit Bane, but some object. He did not really know as a cloud of white smoke had exploded out of the barrel with the projectile when it fired. What he did know was that something hit him in the chest and an insane amount of ribbons suddenly erupted all over him, wrapping around his body, pinning his arms to his sides and his legs together until he was a brightly-colored cocoon. Losing his balance, Bane topped over, his back landing right on the caltrops, the small bits of metal stabbing him into his back.

"Now wait your turn, Bane-inator. I've got some issues to clear up with the Ghoul."

Bane snarled as he began twisting and turning beneath his restraints. Surprisingly, they were strong and his strength did little to release him. Try as he might, he could not free himself.

No, he did have one way. Things would get very tight, but these absurd restraints would not hold. Tilting his head up, he saw Ra's al Ghul on his feet, both of his hands held before him as he stared down the Joker. The clown was busy raising a hand up, licking his thumb for some reason only known to him.

Moving his hands as best he could, he managed to get them onto his thighs. Slowly, he edge them closer together. The closer they got, the more he began reaching out with his fingers as far as they would reach, straining to reach his salvation.

Finally, he reached the Venom control on his wrist. It took a little longer to touch the dial and more time to finally turn it. However, he knew he succeeded when he felt Venom flood the back of his skull.

A rush hit him, not unlike a high. That was soon replaced with all of his senses sharpening. Energy flooded his body even as his muscles began to bulge. As expected, the ribbons encasing his body grew tighter and tighter.

However, the caltrops behind him had pierced through the material when he had fallen on them. As his body grew larger, pulling on ribbons, the holes created by the small, metal shards began to grow, ripping wider and wider.

And then they tore, a ripping sound filling the building. Feeling the restraints go slack against him, Bane moved his arms out, finishing off whatever resistance they offered. He slowly stood up, his height having increased due to the Venom infusion. His shadow stretched forth, looming over the other two combatants.

The two had actually been fighting from what Bane could tell. Ra's al Ghul was showing signs of fatigue due to an increase in his breathing, though no other signs of wear and tear were visible. The Joker looked about the same, though he had a large smile on his face.

That smile disappeared when he caught sight of Bane. al Ghul took notice as well, turning to stare at the masked man at his full power. The Joker was the first one to speak.

"Oh, this is gonna suck."

* * *

For once, Ra's was inclined to agree with his ridiculously-dressed opponent.

Bane was much larger than he had been mere minutes ago. With his attention solely focused on the clown—whom had proven himself a more adept fighter than Ra's had been led to believe—he had missed Bane's transformation. It was too late now to undo what had been done.

Bane raised his hands up before him, wrapping one with the other as he began cracking his knuckles. Every step he took sent tremors through the floorboards. The Joker audibly gulped as he craned his head to keep the entirety of the Goliath before them in his view.

And then Bane attacked, leaping with incredible velocity. His enlarged fist swung down like a sledgehammer, which both of them dodge, leaping out of the way. Bane's fist hit the floor and absolutely demolished it, the floorboards snapping like twigs beneath the blow. His fist sank into the hole had made, pieces of wood sticking up and our around the fist.

Fortunately for Ra's, he had covered quite a bit of distance to remove himself out of a second attack. Even better was that the Joker had not done the same himself as he seemed to trip over his absurd cape. Bane saw this and set his sights right on the clown, his head turning to stare the pale man down.

Something hit Ra's foot then, causing him to look down. Right on the floor was his dagger, the one that had been knocked out of his grasp earlier. Snatching it up, Ra's looked back at Bane as he roughly tore his fist out of the floor and stomped towards the Joker, the floorboards cracking beneath each step.

"Someone! Find me David!" the Joker cried out as he pulled...something from his belt. "Tell him I need his slingshot!"

"You'll need more than a child's toy, clown," Bane growled as threw another punch. The Joker backpedaled, avoiding the blow, though his cape fluttered in the wind the swinging fist left in its wake. Another punch was thrown, again dodged by the madman much like the first.

And then he threw what was in his hand at Bane. It was a rubber ball, which hit Bane in the face and bounced off harmlessly. "Well, that didn't work," the Joker said dumbly.

Those words proved to be a mistake as he had stopped moving. Immediately, the giant man lunged at him, his hand ramming into the Joker's chest, his fingers nearly wrapping around his torso. The force of the lunge knocked the pale man off of his feet, Bane slamming him down onto the floor while he raised a fist high above his head.

 _Now!_ Ra's was on the move, making a running leap. Stretching out a foot, he pressed down on the knife that was still in Bane's back, using it as a stepping stone to raise the Demon higher into the air. Holding his dagger above his head with both hands, he swung it down and stabbed the blade right into the massive muscle that comprised of Bane's right shoulder.

Immediately, the large man flung his upper body up, screaming in pain. He released the Joker, leaving him to lie on the floor as he took a step backwards, raising both of his hands above his head in an attempt to grab at Ra's. Pressing himself down against Bane's back, he avoided his foe's hands as they grabbed at him.

It was then that Ra's noticed the tube coming out of Bane's head. While he had known of it, he hadn't really paid it much mind. Now though, he could see a green fluid running up the tube and into the back of his skull. For a moment, he eyed it, getting lost in the fluid's flow.

So this was Venom.

Then he shook his daze off. Ra's had long heard of the human experimentation that occurred in Santa Prisca. He had heard of one of the subjects surviving the trials and obtaining inhuman strength. Right now, there was no other person it could be than Bane. This tube, this Venom must be the secret to his inhuman strength. A quick snip of the tube and this mighty dragon would be slain.

Quickly, Ra's pressed a hand down against Bane's back as he prepared to pull his knife out of him. However, before he could do so, he felt something large wrap around his ankle. Jerking his head to a side so that he could look downward, he saw Bane had changed tactics and was reaching awkwardly behind him at his waist, managing to get his hand around the older man's leg.

And then he was pulled right off of Bane's back. Bane did not release him as he began spinning around in a circle, his arm stretched out as Ra's was swung through the air, the wind whipping at his hair and clothes. The moment his leg was released, Ra's felt himself sailing through the air. The velocity in which he flew was incredible.

That came to an immediate end when he crashed right into the wall of the room, the air being knocked right out of his lungs. With a gasp, Ra's felt himself bounce right off the wall before he fell onto the floor, a crumpled, painful heap. It took a moment before he began to cough harshly, fighting to restore air into his lungs. Unfortunately, he was assaulted with the urge to throw up and he did so, spitting out a glob of blood onto the floor.

"Surprise!" the manic voice of the Joker cried out. Tilting his head up, Ra's saw the Joker up on Bane's back, much like he had previously. He had his hand grabbing onto the the Demon's dagger, using it to brace himself on the raging hulk. However, he had his other hand pressed right up against Bane's face, specifically his eyes. By the time Bane began reaching for him, the clown pushed himself away, landing awkwardly. He had to lean over so far that he used his hands to brace himself against the floor, scampering back.

Returning his attention to Bane, the Demon saw there was some sort of substance—a sticky substance—smeared all over Bane's mask, primarily the eyes. The giant roared as his hands grabbed at the substance, pulling on it, causing it to stretch, but not removing it from his face.

"What is this infernal—" Bane growled, cutting himself off as he continued to struggle.

"Silly putty!" the Joker answered for him, a smug tone in his voice. "Not only just for copying the Sunday Comics!"

At last, the clown did something useful. Though Bane outclassed them with sheer strength, that power was useless if it did not hit something. Goliath was effectively blind.

Whatever that substance was, Ra's highly doubted it was that putty stuff. It looked more like an adhesive and an effective one at that. Very effective, in fact. Let the maniac call it what he wanted, it mattered very little.

Ra's tried to push himself up, but promptly discovered a lack of strength in his arms and he immediately collapsed to the floor. Damn it, this was not the time for weakness. Tilting his head to a side, he eyed the wall he had hit earlier. There was a spider's web of cracks right where he had hit it, the bricks dipping inward noticeably. He had collided with that brick wall harder than he had thought, though he should have expected it considering the blood he had coughed up.

"And now it's time to cut down our mighty beanstalk," the Joker proclaimed, causing the older man to return his attention to his two foes. Though Ra's had believed this warehouse had been abandoned—and thus empty—the Joker seemed to know where to find things. Nonchalantly, he held a crowbar in his hands, one hand firmly gripping one end and steadily tapping the other end against the palm of his free hand.

Then he moved his free hand down to his other one, getting a firm grip of the crowbar. Pulling the metal bar across his body, he then swung it back, nailing Bane against his abdomen. There was a dull _thud_ and Bane didn't seem the worst for wear from the blow.

This did not deter the clown in the slightest. Over and over, he beat the crowbar against Bane's stomach until he finally got results. At first, Bane had stopped moving. Then he grunted. Then he gasped, bending over slightly.

This only seemed to excite the Joker as he began swinging the crowbar with more fervor. By then, Bane was hunched over, trying to turn away from the assault. It took Ra's a moment to realize the "silly putty" was sticking to the man's hands, keeping them close to the masked man's face, which prevented him from properly protecting his abdomen.

That was when Joker swung low with the crowbar, hitting Bane on the back of his knee. The knee buckled from the blow and Bane dropped to one knee.

Then the pale man hit his foe across the face, effectively stunning him. "God! I love my job!" he exclaimed as he tossed the crowbar high over his shoulder, the crowbar flipping about in the air before it fell to the floor, clanging loudly. "And now for the sweet kiss good night!"

That proved to be a bad idea, whatever the clown meant. Apparently he intended to punch Bane as hard as he could with his fist and did so. Then he promptly stumbled backwards, grasping his fist. "Haaaaaa! Haaaaa!" he gasp. "Punching people hurts!"

 _Idiot._

That was when Ra's heard a low groan. Looking up, the ancient man saw Talia beginning to stir. And lo and behold, she had her sidearm on her. With renewed vigor, Ra's began crawling across the floor, forcing himself to move towards his daughter. It took much longer than he would've liked, but he reached her and removed the handgun from its holster.

"Uhhhnnn, Father?" Talia groaned as she began to shift her head, looking at him through squinted eyes.

Ra's ignored her instead extending his hand out and taking aim at Bane. While he was not well from being tossed aside like a child's doll, his marksmanship was not affected. He squeezed the trigger, firing a shot, and then another. Over and over he fired, the bullets racing nearly instantly through the air, hitting Bane in his side.

"ReeeeAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" Bane roared as he shot up onto his feet. With renewed strength, he pulled has arms away from his face as far as he could, stretching the putty along with it. Finally, one of his hands tore away from the sticky material. Without looking, the brute took off running, Ra's following him as he continued to fire the gun, finally hearing only a clicking sound as the hammer hit nothing but air.

Unfortunately, Bane reached one of the support beams. At first, Ra's assumed the man was seeking cover from the gunfire. Instead, he drew his fist back and slammed it into the beam, obliterating it. Even from where he laid, he saw a large portion of the beam was gone, nothing more than splinters flying aimlessly through the air.

A loud groan rang out throughout the room. Jerking his head up, Ra's continued to hear the sound, realizing a moment later just what support beam Bane had hit. That had been the main support beam and without it, it was placing the strain of holding up the building on the other, less sturdy beams.

Would they hold?

They had to.

A much louder crash caused him to jerk his head down, just in time to see a large hole in the wall, courtesy of Bane plowing right through it.

That was when one of the remaining support beams, towards its top, splintered and broke. More followed its example, breaking and snapping at various places throughout the beams.

"Father! We must leave!" Talia cried out, even as she scrambled onto her feet, her hands grabbing onto the child.

"I believe you are correct, Daughter," Ra's agreed, attempting to get to his feet. Chunks of the ceiling began to fall to the floor, crashing down with heavy thuds.

"Go!" Ra's shouted, even as Talia took off into a run, the child's body bent over her shoulder, her arms desperately clutching him tightly to her. Ra's followed after her, unable to keep up.

Perhaps if he had, he wouldn't have felt a piece of debris land on him.

* * *

The area was nothing more than a heap of rubble. Pieces of wood stuck out in random directions, the remains of the broken support beams. Piles of brick and cement created an uneven ground, clearly unsafe to be tread on.

And amidst the ruined remains of the warehouse, a doorway stood, the cracked frame largely intact, the door all in one piece. It was a small miracle in the wasteland of rubble.

The door then swung open and Bat-Joker appeared in the doorway. His costume was covered in dust and dirt, marring its lovely, dark coloring. A dazed look was on the hero's face.

He then leaned his head back, looking up into the starry—well, almost starry since, you know, light pollution—sky, raised his arms up as high as they would go, and shouted, "I live!"

And then he toppled over, landing hard on his back. The ground had never felt so soft in his life. Definitely a good place for a nap.

* * *

To Guest: I think he'll demand shared custody. He does look after the city most evenings after all

To FlackAttack: You're referring to Bane of the Demon. Talia and Bane did hook up in it, but that was more of Talia acting on a whim. Ra's originally wanted to do away with him. It was until he realized that Bane was more than brawn that he accepted him and refused Talia's wishes to get rid of him once she tired of him. That was my interpretation at least; somehow that became Ra's wanting to set the two of them together in the public conscious. In this story, it's clear Talia does not have the attraction as she did in the comics. Probably has to do with the little boy she keeps at her hip lol

Since the moment I came up with this three-way battle between Bane, Ra's al Ghul, and the Joker, I had a vision in my head. It was of a Venom-infused Bane, crushing the Joker to the floor as he held a fist above his head, while Ra's al Ghul practically kneeling on Bane's back, holding a short sword in his head. This vary image made it into the fight; it's not too hard to see where. At least it was epic-looking in my head. I hope I did it justice.

Also, the Joker's line, "This is going to suck," is right from the end of No Man's Land, in which Bane confronts the Joker when he's destroying Lex Luthor's reclamation projects. The Joker was hoping to draw out Batman, but got Bane instead. Those were his words in response and I could not help but use them here.


	26. Fall Of Wonder Tower

The green concoction bubbled as the flame from the Bunsen burner boiled it. Thick fumes wafted up towards the ceiling, dissipating the further it drifted from the bubbling liquid.

There, and that was another batch for his business partner. Now he could go back to his experiments and plan out their next phases. This was indeed an exciting time for Crane and he was more than eager to get back to his true work.

As was life, there was always a distraction that came at such times, delaying the progress of science. But this one Crane could allow, as it involved the return of his colleague in terror, and he could always make time for him. After all, none of this was possible without his _generous_ contributions.

Narrowing his eyes, the former college professor spotted numerous signs of fatigue. Had the Phantasm gotten into a fight?

"You seem more tired than usual," he commented. "Did you find Strange? I assume he put up a fight."

Stoically, the skull-esque mask stared back at the fear researcher. From the way his shoulders sagged despite attempts to keep them squared at all times, the man was holding himself at the last dregs of his strength. Was he so tired that even speaking was a trial? Then again, the Phantasm wasn't much of a talker before this. He was always straight to the point, speaking as little as possible.

Finally, "Strange is as good as dead. My business in Gotham is concluded." Though still deep and oppressive, the exhaustion could be heard in the voice. Who knew Hugo had that much fight in him?

"I see. Congratulations," Crane replied. Internally, he reveled at the statement; Strange's abandonment of him had remained a very sour point between the two psychological professionals. "What are your plans now, if I may ask?"

There was a moment of silence, his colleague more than likely weighing his words like he always did. Crane could be patient; he had learned the virtue as he languished in Arkham all these years.

"Leaving. There is nothing in this city that requires my attention."

Normally, Crane wouldn't have minded. The financial support meant more to him than anything else. What need did he have for someone who could potentially interfere with his work? However, the Phantasm intrigued, much like the Batman for an admittedly short amount of time. An individual who dressed with the intention of causing fear and anxiety in their, pardon the expression, choice of game was someone he found he could respect.

Such designs were deliberate, chosen to induce the greatest amount of fear with the minimal of effort. It was a shame that he would not be able to observe the Phantasm in action using his fear toxin and recording the responses of the unsuspecting test subjects.

But there was one thing that needed to be addressed that was more pragmatic.

"About our business arrangement—that continues regardless of your presence, correct?" Crane asked, needing the confirmation. He had been tossed aside one too many times to accept anything as a given.

"So long as you continue to provide your toxin, our deal will continue." The Phantasm had turned its back to Crane, a nonverbal way of saying that there was nothing left for them to talk about.

For some...odd reason, Crane felt a need to keep his benefactor here. This moment, it signaled the end to one aspect of his life that he had found himself enjoying. It would not be surprising for anyone to learn that his life had never been easy, always the target of other, stronger males, belittled by the pretty cheerleaders and popular jocks of his day. It was rare to find anyone who valued him for what he could do and not by his unattractive appearance.

Fortunately, he had found his attention drawn to a small television set, one that he had left on but muted earlier. It had been a habit of his from long ago to be a bit absentminded with electronics, specifically those intended for entertainment purposes. This time, though, he saw the evening news and a report coming from the Gotham Museum of Art. While such a thing would not normally grab him, it was the fact that a picture of Strange was also visible on the screen.

Reaching beside himself to take hold of the long forgotten television remote, he unmuted it.

"— _to law enforcement, the infamous Hugo Strange was found in the museum alongside many damaged works and masterpieces. He was apprehended and according to sources has been transferred to a local hospital for treatment. Charges are pending prior to a news conference and we will keep our viewers informed as new developments are announced. For those who don't know, Hugo Strange…"_

By then Crane had begun to tune the report out, but his mind had latched on to one key detail. Why would the police charge Strange with any crimes if he was dead? Unless...he wasn't.

How...lucky.

"Are you sure that Strange is dead?" he found himself asking. "The police don't charge dead men of any crimes, nor do they send them to hospitals. A coroner's, maybe, but not a place for living, breathing humans."

The Phantasm's body language was so easy to read despite the cape. He was tense, his head directed towards the television as well. Someone was also coming to the same conclusion.

"It sounds to me that you still have business in Gotham, what with Strange still alive," Crane remarked casually. "You...wouldn't want to leave before the job is finished, would you?"

The deafening silence was taken as a yes.

"Talk to me," Crane invited, gesturing towards an unoccupied stool. "Tell me about what happened. You may need to change your approach for the next time. And, if you would accept it, I would like to offer my services in accomplishing this goal."

* * *

Ra's breathing was labored. Pain wracked his body and he could feel a numbness in his hands and feet. He was beginning to go through the early stages of shock, stages he was quite familiar with.

Bane's destruction of the warehouse had been costly. It had taken time for his assassins to dig him out of the wreckage and by then it was clear what injuries he had received. Lying on a cot, the Eternal Man looked down at the jagged piece of wood sticking out of his abdomen. Blood had saturated his shirt around the protrusion, indicating just how badly hurt he was.

That wasn't including the internal injuries he was certain he had. His battle had ended with him coughing up blood at one point and his body unable to operate the way it needed to. Because of this, he had been too slow to escape the collapsing ceiling and it had crushed him. Yes, he was in bad shape.

But he had recovered from far worse before.

Seated next to his cot was Talia. Ever devoted, she gazed sadly down at him, mourning his frail composition more than his pain. "It seems we underestimated this Bane," she spoke softly, as if she didn't want to upset him.

Not that she could because she only said the truth. He had received a briefing on Venom moments after returning to Wonder Tower and he was certain he had seen its effects on Bane. It was miraculous the way it had empowered the man, going so far as to minimize the wounds he had received prior to the infusion.

"Indeed it has," he agreed with her. "However, we know our enemy now. He is not the raging brute we had believed him to be."

Talia's visible eye narrowed as her features hardened. It was no secret she held contempt for this man. "No man is invincible. He must have a weakness."

Oh, he most certainly did. It was only a matter of discovering it. Further research was needed, but that could wait for the time being. Taking a deep breath, it pained him as a burning sensation raced through his body, which caused his respiration to come out harsh and jagged.

"Father, you are in pain," his daughter said. "Please, allow me to assist you."

"In a moment, Daughter." Ra's regained his composure, if only for the sake of composure. "I understand I was not the only one retrieved from the wreckage."

Talia nodded her affirmation. "Yes, we have taken into custody that vile man dressed as my Beloved. He is currently restrained and under guard."

While unanticipated, it was gratifying to know they had captured the man. His erratic actions had prolonged and altered his duel with Bane. It should have ended with his sword impaling his foe's heart. Yet, the Joker's arrival had led to his current status.

That was fitting since history dictated such interference. When the Detective had come to Gotham on assignment, the clown had drawn his attention, as if they were fated to battle. Even without his memory, the Detective had been determined to best the man. Though he had not given it much thought in the years since the Detective's desertion, he was beginning to understand the obsession. It was an obsession that transcended multiple identities and lives, an impulse that demanded his former protege face the madman. Perhaps if he had recognized the obsession for what it was back then, the world they lived in would be very different.

For now, the clown's present circumstances would be rectified shortly.

Languidly, he tilted his head to a side, eyeing the sickly green light that poured out of a nearby pool. His salvation awaited. With the same slothfulness, his eyes looked to Talia. "Daughter, you know what must be done," he told her.

With acceptance, she nodded her understanding. "Yes, Father."

And then she withdrew a knife, one in which she used to slash his throat.

* * *

Ohhhhhh, the head. Ohhhhhhh, it hurt. It hurt so much that it was splitting. It was a splitting headache.

Huh, so _that's_ what that phrase meant.

Still, it was a crummy way to wake up. Was there any Tylenol or Ibuprofen, or _something_ lying around? He would gladly take it, even if that meant taking the anti-psychotics Arkham forced him to take. He wasn't too fond of them since they made his mouth dry, but that was the price of having three squares and a warm bed. At least that's what Teddy told him.

Bat-Joker groaned dramatically. Then he waited. Nothing. Then he groaned even more melodramatically, louder even in the event someone didn't hear him the first time. Again, nothing.

Well, that was typical. The one time _he_ was hurt and there was no one around to rush to his aid. Life was just so _unfair._

Opening his eyes, Bat-Joker found that his head was hanging—that was because he was looking down at his lap. He was sitting on a chair and for some reason his arms were on the backside of the chair. When he tried to move his hands, he found they were firmly tied together. Then he realized his legs were also tied. In fact, all four of his limbs were tied with rope to the very chair he was sitting in.

Well, this seemed frightfully familiar. The safe word was banana.

At least he hoped it was.

Lifting his head up, Bat-Joker found himself in a small room about the same size as his room at Arkham. There was a door before him, tightly shut, and undoubtedly locked.

Egad! He had been captured! By the enemy! Wait, who was the enemy again? Oh, who cared. He was being held captive by the bad guys and that was the important part. It was like some unwritten rule that the good guy had to be captured by the bad guy at some point.

Now the question was which bad guy had him?

Almost as if there was a God, the door opened, revealing the nefarious individual that had stripped him of his freedom. Putting on his best stony face, Bat-Joker looked to his captor.

Which turned out to be a six year old boy.

Not gonna lie, he was not expecting that.

Now, if there was an expression Bat-Joker was familiar with, it was a chip on the shoulder. He knew several individuals that seemed to have it out for the world. That saying seemed to describe this little boy to a T. There was a permanent scowl on his face, along with this hoity-toity look that screamed that he was better than everyone and knew it. Or at least that's what he liked to think.

The youngin in his white and blue bodysuit held his hands behind his back and he walked across the short distance between the door and the masked vigilante. He then went off to the left and circled around him, studying him, until he finally came to a stop right in front of the dark-dressed man.

"So, you're the Joker," the boy uttered, sounding as if he were speaking to an insect.

 _Gasp!_ Yes, that was an internal gasp, thank you very much. This kid! This small, puny kid knew his secret identity! But how? He had been so careful! He was wearing a mask after all!

The boy raised a hand, reaching out to the stunned Bat-Joker until his fingers wrapped around the bent horn of his mask. With a jerk of his hand, he pulled the mask off, revealing his handsome face and sweat-drenched hair. For a moment, he was stunned. He was unmasked, not by a great adversary, or even one of the donut brigade at the GCPD, but by a little, hadn't-hit-puberty child.

Boy, they didn't cover this situation in the "How to be a Hero" guidebook.

"I have to say, I'm not impressed." The kid held the mask up to his face, staring into its eye holes before he tossed it aside, where it slapped down on the floor. "You are a despicable human being," he sneered.

"And you used a word too big for your age group," the Joker retorted. Gee, this kid was a bit of a brat, wasn't he?

The little brat leaned forward, his scowl firmly in place. "I know all about you, clown. I know what you've done and I know what you are capable of. You are pure evil."

"I...can't really deny that," the green-haired man admitted. "What gave me away, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Must I recount the hundreds, if not thousands you have killed?"

"Low hanging fruit, Kiddo. Try something else."

The Joker hadn't known it was possible for a scowl already etched in stone to hardened, but the brat proved him wrong. Baby blue eyes flashing with anger, he snarled. "I don't know why my father allows you to live."

The Joker shrugged his shoulders. "Beats me. Why does he let _you_ live?"

The punch to the face was expected, if not predictable. He had to give credit though, the boy socked him pretty good, a throbbing pain erupting in his check. Well, what do ya know? Someone taught him how to punch.

"The first one's free, Junior," he growled lowly, offering his own glare. For a brief moment, the brat looked startled at his look, but quickly recovered.

"If I had it my way, I would strike you down now." He paused in thought for a moment. "In fact, I believe I will."

"Take your best shot, Short Stack. Believe me, it will be your last."

Fury erupted on the kid's face and he drew a fist back. He threw it an instant later, but instead of hitting the Joker's beautiful face, the green-haired man raised a hand up and caught the fist, his fingers wrapping around it tightly.

At last, an expression other than toddler angst appeared on the brat's face. His eyes widened with surprise before darting to the loose cords of rope that were now not restraining the funniest man in the room. In fact, they were slowly sliding down and off his arm, falling to the floor. Never let it be said he didn't know his way around a good knot. "Tsk, tsk, you were a touch too slow," the Joker mocked, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"Now, let me show you the ending to The Great Escape."

* * *

It was cold, empty. There was nothing. No sight, no sound, no sense of feeling. No warmth, no movement, just the void. It was not alarming nor welcoming. It just was. It was a perpetual state of being, yet the sense of being was missing.

And then a light appeared, so small and far that it was the size of a pinpoint. It's green rays reached out, shining. It took eons for it to grow bigger, brighter. Then faster, it reached out until it encompassed everything.

Green water came rushing from the light and slammed into his body. Nerve endings in the face screaming, burning. It was suffocating. A rush of emotions, fear, rage, pain, agony, loss. They scratched, ripped, tore, sundered. There was no up, down, only vague senses of left and right, but those were lost.

Too much…

Too much!

A scream, muffled, vibrating in the ears. Hard to move, stinging, burning! Air! Where was the air! Mind was screaming! Air! Pain! Madness! Too much! Too Goddamn much!

A current seized him. It pushed up. Ha ha! Intense, scraping, charred...giddy? That made no sense.

Water flung from his face, air rushing into his lungs. More! He sucked in as much as he could. More! He could move. He turned, rotated, stretched. Feet touched some sort of floor, he could stand. The green water balanced him, keeping him upright. With unsteady, slowed steps, slowed by the surrounding green water, he lumbered to a small set of stairs. This was some sort of pool.

He climbed the steps, water dripping down his naked body. Heh. Naked. Hee heh. Funny.

He gargled, then spat. There were others. Heh heh heh. They stayed away. Why? The pain was receding. In its place, something else grew. Mania. Heh ha! It was thrilling, exhilarating. Ha ha!

A smile grew onto his face, wide, large, his gums showing. And then the laughter came. "Heh heh ha ha Ha Ha ha HA! HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

He could not stop. Did not want to stop. He took a step. There were others. They flinched. HA HA HA! He could see. He could hear! Feel! He could taste fear! It drove him. It—

A hard slap tore into his face, causing his head to jerk to one side. Immediately, the laughter stopped. The mania flinched and wilted, reason taking control. Everything that had felt new lost its luster.

Ra's al Ghul straightened out his posture. Immediately, one of his men was at his side, offering a robe, which he accepted, pulling his arms through its sleeves as the soft material covered his nude form. Glancing to his side, he found Talia, her visible eye alight with warmth and love, a smile on her red lips.

"Thank you for your assistance," he thanked her as he tied the sash into a knot, closing the robe.

"You are welcome."

"We have much to discuss, primarily about Bane. He surprised me during our encounter and that is not a mistake I take lightly."

Talia nodded. "I have already given the order for an in-depth review. Our men are currently searching for more intelligence on this man."

He had expected no less. Ra's had believed Bane was nothing more than a muscle-bound brute. His ambush and subsequent trap indicated otherwise. Then there was the Venom. While he had been aware of the solution, he had not anticipated its effects on the human body. The visible change combined with the raw power and stamina far exceeded anything he had read, or faced before. This required a closer look.

There would be no further engagements, not until he understood this opponent more thoroughly. His resources were greater than what he had expected as well. This thought darkened his mood further. The helicopter that had decimated his forces was an unexpected, and unwanted, surprise. Very few had survived its onslaught, Ubu being one of the fortunate ones. He needed to know the logistics of Bane's operation. What his arsenal was, where he obtained his funding, and how extensive were his supply lines.

"Father, there is something else we must discuss," Talia said then, interrupting his musings. Tilting his head towards her, he raised an eyebrow, her only response to continue.

"It concerns the Joker."

"What about the lunatic?"

"We currently have him confined to one of the cells. His use of my Beloved's mantle hurts me. I wish to dispose of him promptly."

There was a hardened look on his daughter's face, informing the Eternal Man just how seriously she took this situation. Ra's would not deny he found the appropriation of the Detective's mantle disturbing as well.

Despite the failed mutiny and the Detective's retreat back to Gotham, Ra's had kept himself appraised of the man's activities. He followed his every move, through each crisis that threatened the city, and so forth. He had also made it a point to study the foes he fought and allowed to live, learning of their characters, their strengths, and more importantly their weaknesses.

All were dangerous in their own right, but the Joker transcended the word. He was a walking disaster that only brought destruction and misery. He should have been put down years ago.

"I will leave that matter in your hands," he told Talia, who's eye lit up. "Do whatever you see fit, just as long as you ensure that the Joker is no longer of the living."

Suddenly, an alarm went off, causing the two to whip around, looking to a flashing light, the blaring of an alarm continuously screaming. "What is going on?" Talia demanded as one of their assassins ran by.

The man came to an abrupt halt and prostrated himself before them. "Sir, there had been a breach at the brig."

Ra's eyes widen. Though he had no use for a brig, they had made one shortly after their return to Wonder Tower following Bane's ambush.

There was only one prisoner there.

And now the Joker was out.

* * *

If there was one thing the Joker was good at, it was improv. He was a killer at stand up, just so you know.

A good instance of this was...well, now. He had a hostage, albeit on the short side. His mask that had been yanked off his head was now shoved onto the brat, though it wasn't on right. The eye holes were to the right side of his head and the tyke kept trying to turn it so he could see through them. Alas, the Joker did not allow him to do so, swatting his hands away even as he forced him to walk down the hallway.

"Watch your step, careful now," he sang cheerfully. "If you'll look to your left, you'll see fireworks, orangutans, and giant marshmallow men. Aaaaaand to the right, weapons of mass destruction. Feel free to to snap as many pictures as you like, we'll confiscate them at the end of our tour."

He then forced the kid to a stop. "Now, where was the exit again, Junior?"

"I won't tell you anything!" the brat snapped. Tsk, tsk, whoever taught him manners? He clearly needed a crash course. It was a shame he didn't have the time right now to start.

That wasn't because he was trying to escape, or anything. No, it was mostly because an alarm went off and suddenly their little hallway was filled with guards. It was like they appeared out of nowhere and in a really large group too. It was like they were ninjas or something.

Hmm, these guys looked a little familiar, what with their head to toe body suits and goggles. It's like he could've sworn he'd seen them before. The genesis of this thought escaped him at the moment, but he was sure if he thought about it, he'd recall.

However, had these guys been his stooges, they would've come out firing those lovely machine guns they held. Instead, they stopped, taking aim, but not once firing a bullet. It was as if they were waiting for an order or something.

"Hold it!" he shouted at them, keeping a firm hand on the brat's shoulder so that he didn't get the bright idea to bolt on him. "I've got a human shield here and I'm not afraid to use it!"

The kid jerked his head up to look at him, even though the mask pretty much hid his face. "Who are you calling a human shield?" he demanded.

"You, Boy Blunder. Now be a good human shield and block the bullets. I hope you've got kevlar under those long johns you're wearing, otherwise you won't last very long."

"You will release the prince!" one of the masked guys ordered then, stopping their comic routine in its tracks. "Do it now!"

Prince? The Joker looked around him and saw no prince anywhere. He then looked down at the boy and asked, "Do you know what this guy is talking about?"

"He's talking about me, you idiot!" the boy snapped.

"Well, hot diggity-dog! I got myself the pick of the litter here!" He then leaned his head closer so the boy could hear him clearly. "Why don't you tell your loyal subjects here to part like the Red Sea, or else they'll get a literal definition."

The brat continued to look up at him before he began waving a hand at his underlings. "Do as he says and let us through," he commanded them, reluctantly of course. After all, princelings were used to giving orders, not taking them.

The guys in the fetish gear lowered their guns before standing to a side, lining the walls of the hallway. With a push, his human shield led him down the hallway.

Things would have gone swimmingly too had this continued on. They had made great progress, even getting into a new hallway. Of course, life always had to throw a curveball, or a sinker, or a slow ball...now what was a slow ball anyways? How was it slow? Was it just not as fast as a fast ball? Wouldn't that make it a normally thrown ball?

This raised so many quest—

"Infidel!"

Uh oh. Terrorists!

Spinning around, while making sure his royal pain stayed in front of him, the Joker spotted a rather large beefy bald guy storming down the hallway, looking very much like a raging bull.

"Whoa there, Wilbur!" the Joker called out, which turned out to have no effect on this guy. Strange. Well, he could huff and puff all he wanted, even he had to care about this little bag of misery before him. Reaching to his belt, he pulled out a flare, smacked the bottom of it on top of the kid's head, causing him to yelp even as the flare's top burst into flames. He then held the burning flare close to the boy's neck, causing the lad to lean his head as far away as he could from it.

This made Baldy slow his pace, though the look he was giving the pale man was still very angry. "Put down the flare, or prepare yourself for a world of pain," he commanded.

The Joker gave him an odd look. "Uhh, sorry, pal, but I think you got this all wrong. You see, _I'm_ the one with the hostage, yeah? I'm the one threatening to give Junior here a bad sunburn, so _I'm_ the one that makes the demands. That's how this whole thing works."

"You harm him, you die," Baldy growled.

Okay, clearly he wasn't reaching the guy. Tilting his head up, the green-haired man sighed. "Okay, which part of this don't you understand?" He then pointed the flare towards Baldy. "You, helpless." He then moved the flare to point at himself. "Me, make demands." He then threw his arm out. "Comprende, ese?"

Unfortunately, as he waved his arm out wide, he lost his grip on the flare. The flare went flying right through an open doorway that just happened to be right next to the Joker and his meat shield. It just so happen to land on an open box as well, the box saying something about the contents being flammable.

Well, that couldn't be good.

By then, the pipsqueak had pulled the mask off of his head, but was staring right into the room with the flare still sparking on top of the possibly combustible materials. "What are you doing?!" he shrieked.

"Would you believe me if I said that was an accident?" the Joker asked.

"Everyone take cover!" the boy screamed. "The explosives are about to—"

Explode! That's what they do, explode! And that's exactly what they'll do. Hoisting the boy up, the Joker, hurled him through the air, causing Baldy and just about every one of his bodyguards to leap to catch him.

Spinning around, the Joker took off running. "Every man for himself!" he cried out.

* * *

The night was still, its darkness interrupted by the lights of the city. Wonder Tower stood tall amidst the skyline.

Suddenly, there was a tremor. It was slight at first, but grew stronger and stronger with every passing second. Without warning, a side of the tower close to its base exploded, a fireball blasting out into the night. The roar of an explosion rang out.

From the newly formed, smoke-covered hole, cracks began to grow, starting at the jagged edges of the hole. They inched out slowly at first before they began to speed up, growing longer, faster, racing up the side of the tower, wrapping around the base.

Bursts of smoke and dust blasted through these thin crevices. The top of the tower continued to apply pressure on the damaged base, weakening the structures integrity with every passing second.

And then it could hold on no longer. The base of the tower crumbled into pieces, causing the upper half of the tower to collapse inward. The observation deck at the top fell downwards, rapidly picking up speed until it crashed onto the rubble. A large cloud of smoke and dust rushed away from the remains, a rolling tide of unbreathable air reaching out as far as it could go.

With a front row seat, the Joker watched the destruction of Wonder Tower, eyes wide in astonishment. Huh, who knew a poorly tossed flare would cause something like this?

"The insurance company is not going to believe this."

* * *

To FlackAttack: It's a matter of perspective, I suppose. The Venom tube runs up his back, so for the most part it's covered. Also, Bane is a good enough fighter that he doesn't have to use it all of the time, just when it's needed. It's why the Network didn't notice it during their fight with him, but Ra's did in his.


	27. Martial Law

There had been a time when Gordon had wondered if his days in front of angry mayors had been numbered. It took him some time, but the last one to have truly been angry, whether it was around or at him, had been Krol. Grange was one of those "I don't care what you do, just get it done" types. For the most part, Hady had been neither of those, more content to do politicking and behind-the-scenes manipulations.

Right now, Hady was an angry mayor.

"How does something like this happen?!" the politician demanded. It looked like the man was at his wit's end after the past few weeks. Gordon couldn't really blame him; a man who campaigned as tough on crime was presiding over one of the worst crime waves in recent memory.

Yet, that did not stop Gordon from saying, "Eyewitness reports claim there was an explosion around two o'clock in the morning and that the tower collapsed on itself soon after."

"I don't need to know what happened, Gordon. I want to know who is responsible!" Hady retorted. "Wonder Tower was one of this city's landmarks! Part of the skyline! It's one of our major tourist destinations!"

Not really. It was an attraction that was second tier at best. In almost every brochure inviting people to come sight-see in this city, Wonder Tower wasn't even in the top ten and rarely in the top twenty. If tourism was the reason for being angry, it wasn't a strong reason. More likely, Hady was taking every little thing that happened as a personal insult.

Unfortunately, the department was spread too thin. They were still handling the event at the art museum. The Commissioner's thoughts turned dark as he recalled how the perpetrator was dressed as his MIA ally. It was a slap in the face to see that this was what that man's legacy would be. Some lunatic with delusions of grandeur was not the kind of person he would want to succeed himself. The only silver lining here was that at least they were able to retrieve an Arkham fugitive, and Hugo Strange at that.

They had the bastard at Gotham Mercy, put into a medical coma until the stuff he had put into himself had filtered out while he recovered from a very near-fatal heart attack. According to the doctors, the cause of the heart attack had been too much adrenaline in his heart, most likely a side effect of whatever drug he had been doping on.

Whatever it was, it was similar enough to what they found in Mario Falcone, though a second, unidentified substance had also been found in Strange. Tests were still being run to find out what it was.

Pulling himself back into the present moment, Gordon said, "It's going to take some time until we can properly investigate what happened at Wonder Tower. Right now, I don't have enough manpower to look into it. There's still the regular responsibilities we have to handle on top of trying to apprehend Bane and the psychos he brought with him."

"Why haven't you already arrested that bastard?! Why is he still on the loose in my city?" Hady demanded.

"Something you need to learn, Mr. Mayor, is that the kind of criminal that Bane is is really smart. Like all the other celebrity super-criminals we've been having to deal with all these years, getting lucky is not enough to stop them. Unfortunately, they're smart enough to resist or outright—"

"I'm just hearing excuses, Gordon," Hady interrupted. "I want some real solutions, I want them all caught, both Bane and whoever demolished Wonder Tower, and don't give me any excuse that you don't have enough men."

"We've been taking hits too," Gordon snapped back. "We're still recovering from when Bane attacked the precinct. Every operation we engage in to take him down results in more officers either being injured or killed and we don't have any reserves left, or anyone else coming in to pick up the slack. We're on the last dregs, if those haven't already been exhausted. We're doing the best we can under the circumstances and you losing your temper over it is not going to change anything."

"What do you expect me to do, Gordon? Sit on my ass with my thumb jammed up it?" Hady snarked. Hmm, that was new. Most mayors he met with never dropped their professionalism, even when they were tearing him a new one.

Thinking about the museum once more and what it foreshadowed, it led the Commissioner to say, "The only thing we have left to consider at this time is martial law."

Hady blinked and pulled back, taken aback by the suggestion even though Gordon had spoken in a calm tone of voice. "Martial law? Are you serious?" the man asked incredulously.

Gordon could hear Petit's voice in his head even as he pressed on. "Like I told you, we need more manpower. We also need to keep the people safe while we continue to fight Bane. The people will be convinced of how bad things have become if they're made aware that martial law is on the table. At the same time, we can arrange to bring in the National Guard to shore up our ranks."

He had been thinking about this long and hard, and the longer he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that there was no other way to win this. They were already at the brink and it was either mean it when it was said to pull out all the stops, or to give in and let Bane have his way.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

"You're serious," Hady stated.

"I've been giving it a lot of thought. We can't keep playing with one arm tied behind our backs." Why was this so easy for him to say? Never in his dreams would he have ever recommended something like martial law; yet, here he was doing just that.

"Is there no other way?" The million dollar question was asked.

"If you know of some other way, I'm all ears, Hady," Gordon said. "Do we have any other choice?"

This was definitely new, a mayor who went from being furious to being quiet and cowed. Hady was chewing on his bottom lip, a typical sign of someone thinking about anything that made them uncomfortable. What he decided next was going to affect Gotham for years to come and both of them knew it.

"Alright," Hady sighed as he slumped in his seat. "I'll fill out the declaration. We'll be instituting martial law effective immediately."

It wasn't often that mayors gave Gordon what he wanted, but this time, there had been a part of him that had hoped for that old runaround. That he would be refused and told to do his job better.

A stronger part wanted this, however. He was on his own now, and the only allies he had were in the department. He could not depend on idealistic district attorneys, or dark vigilantes anymore. Both of them had shown that even they had their limits and he was the one that was still standing.

And he refused to let all they had sacrificed be in vain.

* * *

Not since he had been trapped in Peña Duro had Bane felt this frustrated. For weeks he had been dominant and so close to taking Gotham. It was in the palm of his hand; all he had to do was close his fingers over it and make it his.

Ra's al Ghul. The Joker. Both of those men were now his greatest challenges. The former was dismantling his operation piece by piece, killing his men in numbers that he was hard-pressed to replace. The latter was a wild card that had caught him off-guard no matter how long he had anticipated on some kind of interference. That it had happened while he was confronting the former frustrated him even more.

Still, they had scored some kind of victory over Ra's al Ghul. The force of men that his opponent had brought with him had been decimated. They were both weakened now. The next move was obvious: to capitalize on it and regain any territory once lost.

Currently, he had retreated to the _Espina de Rosa_ , the ship that he had arrived in. The helicopter was in the middle of maintenance to make sure that it was ready for its next use. Already, it had served during the attack on Blackgate and now for striking against the Demon's Fang.

He would need to be careful with using it, though. Over-usage would allow his enemies the chance to bring it down and that could not be afforded. Surgical precision would be needed to maximize its effectiveness.

The aircraft was not the only thing that was receiving maintenance. He was having medical attention given to him. By now, the immediate effects of his Venom were wearing off and he could no longer ignore the state of his body. So many cuts had to be stitched, bullets removed, and the rest checked over for other unidentified injuries. He was shirtless, his body covered randomly with bandages and tape.

One could only hope that the collapse of that warehouse had been enough to kill his enemies, but with one who held the Batman in high esteem and other synonymous with being the Batman's opposite, there was a healthy amount of skepticism for that optimistic view. Until proven otherwise, it would have to be assumed that both were alive.

Footsteps alerted the masked man to the approach of his lieutenant. Bird looked pleased with himself as he came to a stop before the Santa Priscan, resembling the cat in a certain metaphor. Even with the events of the previous night still weighing on them, to see such a look foreshadowed good news.

For Bird's sake, it ought to be.

"Bane, I have some new recruits to show you, the ones we talked about," the blond American announced, three men at his sides, one to the left, one to the right, and one bringing up the rear. "Locals as we discussed, and probably the best ones for our needs."

"Bold claims require fitting proof," Bane stated. "Who have you found?"

"This guy to my right," the native Gothamite gestured to a thin, bald man who only wore a tattered coat, a wretched-looking individual if there ever was one, "is Victor Zsasz." He paused for a moment before addressing this Zsasz, "Did I say that right?" He then looked away before he received an affirmation. "Anyway, he's one of the big names that came out during my absence in Gotham, and let me tell you, he had racked up a higher body count than any hitman I've ever met."

"My earlier statement remains," Bane retorted, not impressed with his lieutenant's find.

This Victor Zsasz saw fit to answer for himself. Opening the coat, the bald man revealed a body covered in tally marks. At first, Bane had thought he was seeing tattoos, but in the blink of an eye he recognized them as scars. In fact, on the upper left arm were three fresh cuts. Was this man a person who found pleasure in pain?

"Every mark on my body is a zombie that I have liberated," Zsasz stated. "One life, one mark."

Suddenly, the boast about a high body count seemed plausible, though the giant of a man continued to nurse his doubts. Judging by the number of scars, if the claim was true, then this man was responsible for more deaths than himself.

"This guy faced the Batman and escaped him. There's videos online that prove it," Bird continued. "Outside of the Joker, no one has killed more people than him. He knows his way around a knife and if nothing else he can keep the cops off our backs while they try to hunt him down."

A distraction for the police? An interesting proposal, and one that held promise due to the GCPD's aggressive approach in opposing him. As it stood, law enforcement was united in their fight against him and continued to grow bolder with every day that passed. They would need to be taught another lesson on why antagonizing him was not a smart decision.

On top of that, this serial killer would inspire fear and panic in the city, the kind only a faceless murder machine could. The public's fascination with these kinds of animals was another weapon that could be used while he fought to solidify his grip over the city.

"Very well," Bane said. "How much is a life to you?"

"Worthless," Zsasz answered immediately.

"Let me say it differently: how much money is a life to you?"

Zsasz frowned, showing confusion. "Money?"

"For every life you take, whether it is a cop, a hero, a criminal, or an innocent, I will pay you for every mark you carve into your skin. How much would you accept for each mark?" the masked man explained patiently.

"I don't know. How much are you willing to pay?" Zsasz seemed slow to accept such a deal and in the process had given all bargaining power to him. It seemed the man was more interested in his kill than actually profiting from them. A pity, but one that worked in Bane's favor.

"A thousand for each mark," Bane declared. "Return to Bird every day and he will pay you what is owed. Now go and begin your hunt. No one is off limits."

Zsasz nodded slowly, then closed up his coat, turning to leave and do as he was bid. This would be a work in progress, but he did not foresee having to put much effort into it. Zsasz was like a dog on a leash; release the leash and he will do what is pleasurable to him.

With that "recruit" out of the way, he turned back to Bird and waited for the second one.

"Right, well, this guy here," and this one was a short man who wore a long coat with an oversized bow tie. In his hands he held what looked like a top hat, which the man fiddled with the brim out of anxiety, "is one of the crazies that the city has come to be known for. His name's Jervis Tetch. I don't know too much, but what I did find out was that he invented some kind of mind control technology. Thought you would be interested in that."

Jervis Tetch? Bane was familiar with the name, but even then details escaped him. The part about mind control caught his attention and verification was needed immediately.

"Is this true?" he demanded of the short man who jumped at the sound of his voice.

"W-why indubitably, my good sir!" Tetch responded. "I have mastered the skills needed to, uh, bring any and all under the control of a sole person, though as of late I have not had the ability to, uh, shall we say, continue any sort of, um, innovations to my work?" A very talkative type once he started, was he not?

"Explain your previous work and its limitation."

Tetch squirmed under his scrutiny. "I was able to place, um, a number of people under my personal control. This control lasted quite some time, several weeks if I don't say so myself. There were no disruptions at all...until the Batman intruded upon my Wonderland and _stole my precious Alice from me_!"

"Enough," Bane commanded, already recognizing a rant in its initial stages. From what he had heard, this small man was confident in his claims. However, it seemed he lacked something, ambition perhaps.

Himself, on the other hand, had that in spades.

"Are you able to replicate it?" Bane asked. "Your mind control technology."

"The plans have never left my braincase, good sir. I could do it right now with some spare parts if you would like." It seemed when speaking on the man's expertise, his confidence made up for the lack of ambition.

"I am thinking bigger than a small group of people," he stated. "What would you need for an area the size of a city?"

"A-a city?" Tetch stammered.

"A city," the hulk of a man confirmed.

"That would...I have never done...it would take so much…"

"Figure it out," Bane ordered as he stood up to his full height, towering over everyone in the vicinity easily. "Present to me plans that will be of use to me. Please me, and I will allow you to build it. I will provide all that is necessary. In return, you will work for me, and me alone. You will not undermine my endeavors in any way, shape, or form. Do so, and I will do to you what I do to all who cross me. Do you understand?"

"O-o-o-of c-c-course!" Tetch was shrinking in on himself, and it was not helped out when Bird slapped a companionable hand on his thin shoulders.

Giving a nod, Bane looked over Bird and at a third man. Like Zsasz, he was bald, but unlike the first two "recruits," this one was better built and wore a suit and tie, much like the member of organized crime would wear. "And who is he?"

Like Zsasz, this bald man spoke for himself. "I represent a special interest in the city that would like to arrange a meet with you."

"A special interest?" Bane questioned flatly, his doubt audible for all. "What special interests are left in this city that believe they have any clout to negotiate with me."

"My boss has managed to keep himself out of all of this. He ignored that call from that Falcone wannabe, figuring you'd crush him before he got started. He's noticed that things seem to be turning against you and he believes that if anyone is going to rule this city, it's going to be you, so either he tries to find a place under you, or you put him out of business," the bald man explained. "He's willing to meet you on your terms, wherever you want. There will be no traps, no ambushes, nothing. Everyone else whose tried has failed and if you haven't fallen to any of that, why would you fall for his?"

"Explain to me how this boss of yours has managed to keep himself hidden from me for so long." Out of all the claims that were made so far, this one was the one he believed the least.

"Because he wasn't able to do much of anything until he got sprung from the pen a few months ago—and thanks to you knocking off the Bat, he's been able to build up his own 'business,' and its gotten to the point where he needs a partner. Someone like you. He's very eager to get something set up, and he even knows a few things about this city, especially how its been changing."

Though his mask showed nothing, Bane's eyes were narrowed. Again with a proposition that seemed too good to be true. What would he choose to do? The answer was obvious.

"I would like speak with your boss personally and not in a predetermined meet. Not yet," he stated.

The bald man pulled out an iPhone. "I can call him and you can speak with him right now."

Bird shot a look at him. Bane stared this messenger down.

Then he held out his hand.

* * *

" _Citizens of of Gotham, I know that the last several weeks have been nothing short of a nightmare. The crime rate keeps increasing, criminals have taken our streets and livelihoods away from us, and now they are destroying everything we have worked so hard to build. In light of the senseless destruction of Wonder Tower, I am instituting martial law across Gotham until this situation has been has been resolved. A curfew…_ "

By this point, the members of the Network had begun to tune out the Mayor's press conference. There was nothing else that needed to be listened to after the words "martial law" had been said. This was not good.

"I never thought Hady would have the balls," Manhunter muttered, glaring down at the table.

"I don't know who your local politicians are, but I'm not really surprised. The thing that does is that he waited so long to do it," Green Arrow remarked. Looking at the brunette vigilante, he added, "You don't sound like you're this guy's biggest fan."

Manhunter shrugged her shoulders as she looked up at the Star City hero. "I voted for the other guy."

" _The big thing here is that the police just got a lot of authority in a short amount of time. When they do enact martial law, it's usually zero tolerance for any kind of criminal activity, including vigilantism,_ " Oracle cut in. " _Things are going to be more dangerous out there. There's not only Bane and the Demon's Fang, but now the cops are going to be a bigger threat to us._ "

"So what do we do? What's our next move?" Nightwing asked the group. "The odds are stacked against us more so than ever."

Predictably, it was Red Hood who spoke first. "We need to stop being pussies about this. We've gotta take Bane down and do it now. No more going after small fries, or little stuff. We have to go after the big man himself."

"Kid, I know you mean well, but we are not ready for him. When we have trouble taking down Hugo Strange and whatever he cooks up in whatever laboratory he uses when he's not turning D.A.s into violent monsters, we're not ready for him."

"And we haven't seen any signs of the Demon's Fang since they first showed up, but if what we're hearing is right, they've been doing a better job of taking on Bane than we have," Manhunter added.

"We're not just going to let these guys take your city from you," Green Arrow piped up before a trembling Red Hood could.

"For now the best we can do is let them fight it out and take them both down when they're both weak," Nightwing said, though you could hear the frustration in his voice. It was clear that he didn't like such an idea, and the body language of the rest of the gathering shared the same feeling.

"Um, what about that Phantasm guy? I think we stood up to him better than the rest," Spoiler suggested.

"That's easier said than done. We don't know where to find that guy and he has a knack for staying hidden," Huntress told them all. "Back when that guy was killing mob bosses, Black Canary, Katana, and myself only met him once. Who knows how many times Batman managed to find him. The only way we're going to find him is by accident."

"Oh." Spoiler's shoulders slumped as her idea was shot down.

"Hold on a minute," Green Arrow said, holding up a hand. "Everything I've heard about this guy is that he goes after bad guys. You've mentioned mobsters before, and last night he was targeting Strange. Maybe we can use that and bait him into a trap."

"How? Put up a sign that says 'I'm a mob boss, please kill me, Phantasm'?" Huntress snarked.

"Maybe we don't have to do that," Katana spoke quietly. "Perhaps there is another way."

"And what way is that?" Huntress asked with a lot less snark in his voice.

"The Phantasm always kills his mark, does he not?" Katana pointed out.

"I'm guessing that's true," Manhunter said, voicing what those who were not following were thinking. Logically, if you killed bad guys, you made sure you killed them, right?

"Not all of his marks are dead," Katana stated. "Hugo Strange still lives."

"And he'll come after Strange to finish the job," Nightwing said, realization hitting him. "Oracle, what's the status of Strange?"

Barely a minute passed before the computer hacker responded. " _He's currently being held at Gotham Mercy in a medical coma. He's recovering from a massive heart attack brought on by having a huge amount of adrenaline in his system. I'm guessing the fear toxin he breathed in pushed him over the edge for that. The GCPD have guards stationed at his room while he recovers and detoxes from that Monster Man serum he was bragging about._ "

"The cops won't stop the Phantasm, not if that guy's determined," Huntress said, sharing a look with them all. "I guess we have a place where that guy's going to show up."

"And we'll be there when he does," Green Arrow added.

"Oh come on! Why are you guys talking about going after some punk who dresses like a ghost?" Red Hood exclaimed. "Bane's the guy we should be going after! What are we going to do about him?"

"Haven't you been listening, or you know, watching?" Bluebird spoke up. "We're still warming up from that guy, getting experience and all until we're strong enough to take him. We still gotta find where he's hiding all that Venom, you know? And didn't that Strange guy use Venom to make that stuff of his? How'd he find it?"

"And another reason to keep that guy alive, so we can find that out," Huntress muttered.

"The Phantasm's more on our level. I wasn't watching, but judging by how no one stopped me from shocking Strange alive, we are good enough to hold him off, if not beat him. This is one more problem we will have to deal with at some point and if not now, when? We can't let a known killer stay out on the streets, especially when we know we can do something about it."

"So long as the cops don't get to us first," Huntress drawled. "I think we're all...mostly in agreement of what we're doing next. Oracle, can you keep an eye on Strange while we try to find where Bane keeps his Venom? We might as well try to kill two birds with one stone. And to make sure, lets have someone close to Gotham Mercy in case the Phantasm makes a move early."

* * *

The spineless mayor may have declared martial law, but Bane was not intimidated by such a paltry show of power. He would walk the streets whenever he saw fit and that was where he was. As the sun descended over the horizon, he waited outside of the Gotham City Port Authority for this would-be partner that was desperately trying to meet him.

The phone call had been peculiar. A heavily-accented voice had been most insistent on a meet-up, you could almost hear the desperation as the man on the other end agreed to all conditions and any locations.

Since he had found greater success with ambushes, Bane had ensured that he would be the one ready to unleash one if necessary.

The appointed hour arrived and so did this would-be business partner. Arriving in a car that parked across the street, the masked man watched as two individuals exited the vehicle. One was a woman who had the air of a secretary about her, nothing that really made her stand out to him. The much shorter male, however, was the one that had his attention. It had been a male who had spoken to him over the phone so this had to be him.

Squat would be one way to describe him, though the fur-lined coat he wore attempted to make him appear bigger. It achieved that for width, but not height. Dark, groomed hair lined the side of a head that was starting to bald prematurely, framing a face that possessed a prominent nose. The only thing of note that Bane could spot was that this man carried an umbrella with him, and so he left his vantage point to go down and meet with this contact.

"Evenin', Mr. Bane," the man greeted as the Santa Prisca native appeared before him. To his credit, the umbrella carrying man showed no signs of intimidation in his eyes, even with the monocle worn over the left one. "I'm glad you was able ta make the time ta meet with me."

The accent confirmed that this was the caller. "You wish to do business with me. Tell me of your proposal," Bane ordered, arms crossed over his chest.

Instead of inanely commenting about being the time to be straight to business, the squat man nodded his head. "The name's Oswald Cobblepot, and I'm a man with a talent for business. Any bloke with a head on his shoulders has to know this, and so I want in. Figured that if you're takin' power, you're goin' ta need ways to keep yourself there."

"What are you offering that I do not have myself?" Cobblepot was taking too long in his opinion to get to the point.

"It's only a matter o' time till you start runnin' out o' resources, at least the ones you've brought with ya. Aye, I know 'bout the kind o' hardware you've runnin' 'round with. Some good stuff, that. What I'm offerin' is gettin' ya more o' it. See, I've been able ta make some contacts recently, get some supply lines established. 'Stead o' waitin' for you ta come after me an' take them for yourself, I'm wantin' ta give them to ya in exchange for remainin' the middle man, so to speak." Cobblepot gave a crooked smile once he had finished speaking.

This man had a talent for thinking highly of himself and yet able to show himself as lesser. First bragging of his contacts then supplicating himself by giving them to him. This man was playing a game, and Bane was tired of games.

"Why do I need you when I can take these contacts of yours for myself?" he questioned.

Cobblepot pulled out a thin cigarette holder, and placed a cigarette in one of the ends. Lighting it up, he took in a deep breath before exhaling a cloud of tobacco. "'Cause I offer more than a simple weapons contract. I've been in this city for quite some time, watchin' it change, keepin' an eye on it with an ear to the ground. This ain't your father's Gotham anymore. If you mean ta not just take it, but keep it, you'll need information, the kind that can only come from one who's been in the crosshairs. Someone who's been 'ere the whole time as e'erythin' changed."

"I have my connections and information sources. You offer me nothing I do not already have," Bane retorted.

"Aye, in his heyday, Birdy Colosimo was well connected," Cobblepot agreed, speaking around that cigarette holder. "Howe'er, he's been out o' the country for a long time, and many o' his ol' contacts are out o' business, so to speak. Some o' them left town, others have been killed thanks ta all the violence, all no longer have the clout they once had."

That Cobblepot knew of Bird was surprising. The man was well-informed, or was able to find out information. A man with such a talent like that tended to chafe under the rule of another, desiring their own power. With Bird, he had unwavering loyalty, but not so with this man.

After the offers of working with others turning out to be ruses, he was not about to rush in on another. There was always some kind of catch in this city as he had been learning.

What was Cobblepot's angle, he wondered. While his appearance was nothing attractive, his accent distracting, it beggared belief that this short man could deliver on his big words. He had yet to prove himself either.

Bird he could trust, that was why he had allowed those recruits to work for him. Loyalty like that, in Gotham, was priceless.

"Be grateful that I do not kill you for wasting my time. I do not believe your claims hold any merit," he stated.

"Now, now, I am not stupid enough ta come 'ere with only a bluff," Cobblepot was quick to caution. "Unlike some people, I always make sure that I can back myself up."

"Yet all you offer are words and nothing else," Bane retorted. "I want proof that you are able to follow through, because words mean nothing to me."

"Let no one say you ain't a smart man, Bane, because you are," Cobblepot praised, empty though it was. "I'll be back 'ere in a few hours to show you my wares. Let me prove that I am indeed worth my salt. After that, you can judge me. How does that sound?"

"You should already be showing me your 'wares,' yet you come here with nothing. I am not impressed. Now go." Not waiting to hear out anymore, Bane turned to leave. He had heard what was pitched and he was not biting. While killing Cobblepot would show that he was not willing to waste his time, there was very little else he could get from it. To have another man's blood on his hands that did not advance his agenda would be a true waste. Every life purchased something and worthless lives purchased nothing unless you gave them meaning.

The only lives that held any meaning to Bane were those of his enemies because each victory over them made him stronger. Each triumph granted him more power over the masses. Each death was worth more than its weight in gold. The deaths of Ra's al Ghul and the Joker were ones that he craved to add to his legend.

That was all the difference.

* * *

Oswald exhaled a large cloud of smoke. Now that could have gone better.

"It seems he is not taking you serious, Mr. Cobblepot," Ms. Lark remarked to him.

"'Haps I came on a bit weak there. No matter." Shrugging his shoulders, he turned around and began heading to the car. His assistant, a very trustworthy Lark who, while having luscious dark hair, was nothing like Candice, followed after him. "I can still use this. For a moment, I had 'em. Now, I need ta give 'em a reason to want me."

Opening a door for him, Lark asked, "How do you plan to do so?"

"Simple really. I 'ave a supply, but no demand. So I need ta create a demand." Taking a seat in the back, he took another drag of his cigarette. "There's nothin' a little anonymous tip can't help with. I'm thinkin' the dump over on Clinton will shake things up. Desperate times makes for desperate bedfellows and all."

* * *

To gary: He does have a unique way of looking at life lol


	28. God Help Them All

Ra's al Ghul was not happy.

Wonder Tower was gone, ruined. Though it had been an afterthought in his empire, the Eternal Man did not like losing what was rightfully his. The Joker had destroyed his base without malice or intent. He just did.

And now that lunatic was walking free on the streets.

The stench of Gotham's sewers offended his senses. That was where the Demon's Fang had retreated upon the destruction of Wonder Tower. Had it not been for the access to the tunnels being close to the Lazarus Pit, his entire Fang would have been consumed in the wreckage. As of now, he was at half-strength. Reinforcements would be needed from another Fang.

That would have to wait. A new headquarters was needed and Ra's admitted that his holdings in this city were not in adequate supply. He had some cells that were in operation, of course, but they had been small affairs in order to avoid detection by the Detective. His initial interactions with the man had proven he was sensitive to changes within the city. To maintain a low profile, small, four man teams had been placed in remote parts of the city. Because the teams were so small, they required fewer resources to be maintained, and could thus move around unobserved.

Wonder Tower had been the supply station to support these teams and with it gone, another place was required.

All around Ra's, he saw his men caring for their wounds and injuries, or performing maintenance on their weapons. The sewers were a poor place for medical attention and further examination would be needed in a cleaner, more sterile location. Ubu was standing nearby, constantly guarded the older man, as was expected of his station. Close by, Talia's child was nestled underneath a blanket, only managing a fitful rest.

Currently, Ra's could not say he was pleased with the boy. He had come to learn the child had approached the Joker and tried to bully him. It was because of this the Joker had broken free and managed his escape. Had it been any other under his command, Ra's would have ordered their execution. It was only by Talia's sway did that command die upon his tongue.

Speaking of whom, his daughter was not present. In order for the continuance of the child's life, he had assigned her the task of obtaining new accommodations. She had accepted the assignment without complaint.

Still, reparations would be made. The child needed to be educated in common sense. Considering his patronage, he had found that a surprising, if not disappointing finding. That Talia had not instilled this concept prior was even more upsetting.

It seemed such discipline fell to him.

There would be time for that in the near future. For now, obtaining new, more suitable accommodations was their most important need. He would bide his time and allow his forces to regroup. Undoubtedly, Bane would do the same, but he did not have access to an organization as vast as his. Numbers were on his side.

All who opposed him realized this just before he claimed their heads.

* * *

There was another tip that came in, one about another weapons dump located on Clinton Avenue. Gordon was not able to act on it himself when he had received the call. He was still in City Hall, close to Hady. The announcement of martial law had required his attendance along with some questions that had been lobbed at him by the press. Reporters had been foaming at the mouth upon the announcement and each one had managed to let their feelings be known through the questions they asked. To say the least, they weren't happy about it.

It was only after the end of the press conference did he get the call, and then he could only order that someone follow up on it. If this tip was as reliable as the last one, they were about to make another bust. Whoever this tipster was, they were doing some damn good work. It almost reminded him of...but that was not possible.

Even if he really wanted to believe it.

In the meantime, he needed to get a copy of the martial law decree for himself, something that his officers could wave in the faces of anybody who objected to it. He still didn't like this, but his hands were tied if he wanted to protect Gotham.

As they reached Hady's office, the Mayor quickly moving to get around his desk, the Commissioner commented, "Seems like we're in luck today. Got a tip that's going to need a raid."

"Martial law couldn't have come at a better time then," Hady replied as he reached for a pen. Laying proudly and in dead center of his desk was the multipage document that would finish up this thing and make it official. Though the announcement had been made, all that was needed was a single signature to make it real.

Hady scrawled his name on the line right above where it was printed, to make sure that no one could mistake that this was him putting it into effect.

And just like that, civil liberties were suspended.

"There it is, Gordon. You don't need a warrant for your raid. Go out there and do what you need to do," the Mayor announced as he picked up the flimsy pieces of paper and handed it to an aide.

"I'd like a copy of it just to be safe," Gordon said as he remained standing. He had an urge to stuff his hands into his pockets, but he resisted the temptation. He needed to remain professional even if his stomach was churning at it.

"Of course," Hady said dismissively as he picked up the phone receiver. He was dialing a number, one whose number Gordon would find out shortly.

"May I speak with the Governor? This is Sebastian Hady, the Mayor of Gotham."

The other part of the Commissioner's reason for being here: the call for the National Guard. With their authority increased and their ranks soon to be bolstered with military-trained men and women, there was going to be a big change who was winning this war.

Bane may have his trained mercenaries, but they were about to face soldiers, some of whom had seen combat overseas. These weren't the rank and file police officers they were used to dealing with. Naturally, it wouldn't just be the Guard themselves, but their equipment as well.

Gotham would be having armored vehicles on its streets. Tanks were one way to describe them, just without the turrets. Automatic weapons wouldn't stand a chance, though RPGs were still a threat. Gordon didn't put it above Bane to have such weapons with him.

"Governor? You heard the conference, did you? You can guess why I'm calling. I'm making a request for the National Guard," Hady began speaking into the phone, his call patched through.

This is what he had wanted, wasn't it? Now he was getting it. Time to push aside all doubts and get to business. There was a raid to plan and a tip to act on.

God help them all.

* * *

It was some time after lunch and Lucius Fox found himself in the lobby of Wayne Enterprises. He had just returned himself having grabbed something greasy to sink his teeth in. At his age, he needed to watch his diet, but everyone needed to treat themselves every once in a while. It was what made life worth living.

It was in the lobby when he heard his name called.

"Mr. Lucius Fox!"

It was loud, attention getting, and as he turn in the direction he had heard that voice, he found it belonged to a person who he would describe as an attention-getter.

Though dressed professionally in a blouse and pants, none of that did anything to take away from the beauty of this woman. Dark hair was styled to hide her left eye, though he saw hints of it peeking through it from time to time. Some very luscious lips were painted red with lipstick and that was the extent of the noticeable makeup she wore.

Naturally, the businessman was curious why such a very attractive woman like this was calling out to him. He had a feeling he knew why, because what other reason would there be for anyone to want his attention.

"That's a set of lungs you have. To what do I owe this pleasure…?" he trailed off.

"Forgive me, but I didn't want to lose sight of you now that I have found you," the woman said, her accent one he was unable to put his finger on, but for some reason it seemed to fit her. In fact, a person like this would demand to have an accent of some kind that fit them best. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Talia Head, of the Head Development Corporation. There are some matters that I need to discuss with you and only you."

He was not familiar with such a company, but he kept quiet about it. Instead, he told her, "Normally I require people to schedule an appointment with me if they need to discuss anything with me. This is very short notice, Ms. Head."

"My apologies, but I recently arrived in Gotham and came across a problem that I had not anticipated. I had heard when such problems arise, you are the man in this city to meet with. In fact, I had just arrived to make an appointment when I spotted you. I hope you don't mind if I take the initiative to speed the process up," Head explained. "Bruce always mentioned that if anyone wanted something done in this city, you were the man to speak to."

Lucius raised both of his eyebrows. "You know Bruce? As in Bruce Wayne?"

"That was indeed the name he gave me. Also, he was identical to the pictures when I had a background check done on him," Head answered, shrugging her shoulders apologetically. "This was some years back, mind you, but it was serendipitous nonetheless."

Interesting words there, he noted. He was going to need to feel her out some more—metaphorically, of course—before he committed to any kind of dealing with her, or her company.

"It's your luck that I have nothing scheduled right now. We may not have much time, but I could squeeze you in and hear what you have to say. Shall we go to my office?" he invited, gesturing towards the elevators.

"Most certainly," Head agreed.

Several minutes later, and several floor higher, Lucius was shutting the door behind them while Head accepted one of the chairs he had offered. As he moved to reach his seat behind his desk, he asked, "If you don't mind, could you tell me how you know Bruce? A lot of stories come in through here, as well as other offices, of how this person knows Mr. Wayne, or how they helped him change a tire and was promised a job, when really they happened to walk past him when they happened to be eating at the same restaurant."

"Your concern is warranted," Head chuckled, amused as his explanation. "As I mentioned, this was some years back. I was in the middle of a vacation in the Swiss Alps when I first met him. We were at a ski resort and it was very odd that he was the one person that wasn't skiing. At first I had believed he was waiting on his group to finish getting ready and had not paid him much mind. A few days later, I grew curious and introduced myself."

For a man like Bruce Wayne, the Swiss Alps were a generic location. Still, it was reasonable to believe he had been there at least once, if not several times in the last few years. Personally, Lucius could name a few specific times he knew Bruce to be vacationing in those mountains.

"Only when I was paying close attention did I notice the signs of grief," Head continued. "They are ones I know too well. This man had lost family, I had thought to myself, or perhaps someone he was close to. I took a gamble and introduced myself to him, and he made perhaps the worst attempt at flirting that I had ever seen. His heart wasn't in it and that helped confirmed my suspicions.

"We spent a lot of time with one another after that, learning about one another. At the end of it, I would have to say we had become friends, of a kind. However, he never divulged much information about himself, I noticed. He likes to keep secrets and other people at arm's length. There was one time he slipped a name, Alfred, I believe it was."

That would put the time sometime after the Great Gotham Fire and Bruce's leave of absence afterwards. Not only that, one of the first destinations in Bruce's itinerary, before he had dropped off altogether, had been in Zurich. This was starting to check out from a surface level.

"So far I haven't heard anything that doesn't check out. So what can I do for you, Ms. Head?" he asked.

"Please, call me Talia. The formalities remind me too much of my mother," Talia told him. "Why I come here today is that I am searching for properties in the city where I can establish a regional headquarters for Head Development. I have checked many locations, most of which were not fit for our enterprise."

"So how does that bring you here to Wayne Enterprises?" Lucius asked. Now they were getting into the heart of the matter.

"I was unable to not notice that there are some prime locations in this city that would more than serve my company, and they all happened to be owned by Wayne Enterprises," Talia explained, crossing her legs as she spoke. "I wish to purchase one of them, specifically one that is close to Gotham's Industrial sector. The location is ideal and would allow us space to store some of our larger equipment."

"Hold on for a moment, allow me to look up the property in question," he told her, turning to his computer and rapidly tapping on the keyboard. It didn't take long and he found the location that Talia spoke of. Interesting enough, this was a place where there wasn't much activity. In fact, they were in the process of relocating many of its functions elsewhere to other locations. Something told him that Talia here was probably aware of this also.

"I do believe I found the place you're looking at," he remarked. "As of right now, we're in the process of relocation, meaning we're emptying it out. Are you proposing to me that you want to buy it for your company?"

"Precisely," Talia confirmed. "I am very good at doing my homework, Mr. Fox."

Another interesting choice of words there, but he was not going to call her out on it. Instead, he said, "I think we can get something worked out. I'll run this by some of the board members today and see if I can't get them to agree to a sell. I don't foresee it being too much of a problem, so long as you can afford whatever price we ask."

"Money has never been an issue for us. If this could be finalized today, I would more than appreciate it," Talia thanked him. "The sooner this transaction can take place, the better."

"You got it." This was going quite well and whether Talia knew it or not, she was helping in certain matters that he would not go in to right now. It was very sensitive right now, but now that he thought about it…

"Before you leave, Ms. Head, there is something else I would like to speak with you about," he said. "It's a proposition, nothing more, and it is not anything that would get you into trouble. I bring it up because you mentioned how close you are, or were to Mr. Wayne. I hope you still are."

Talia raised an eyebrow. "What does this proposition entail?"

* * *

Helena stared at her mask, her dark hair framing her face in a wild cascade.

It seemed as if she were living with this thing on, that Huntress had taken over completely. That wasn't to say her alter-ego wasn't a large part of her because it was. One would be hard-pressed to find where Helena ended and Huntress began.

This mask, however, allowed a darker, angrier part of her loose and that was exhilarating. However, day after day of this wore her down.

She was tired and stressed and frustrated and...and...and…

Helena sighed while looking away from her purple mask. Since she was holding it in her hand, she lowered it to her side, where it was firmly out of sight.

Though that Red Hood kid was impetuous, he wasn't wrong. She knew it and the rest of them knew that the endgame here was taking out Bane. He was the problem and they had to be the solution.

The problem was that Bane wasn't some two-bit thug. He wasn't some power-mad shrink with delusions of grandeur. They had fought him on neutral ground and he had creamed them. He hadn't even bothered killing them with his own hands, opting for his mercenaries to finish them off. Were this the days of the Mob and Falcone and Maroni, that would've been considered a high insult. In fact, her family roots were shrieking from being tossed aside and seen as nothing more than garbage.

Unfortunately, they hadn't made that much progress since that night. It seemed as if they were stuck in neutral, avoiding directly fighting Bane in favor of squashing down the smaller fishes. They had taken on Mario Falcone high on the Monster Man serum and that had been rough. They took on Hugo Strange and his improved formula and that had been even rougher. Now they were honing in on the Phantasm, a guy she hadn't missed since their initial run-in and that hadn't been a picnic back then.

See what she meant by small fries?

And now the situation with martial law was just another complication they didn't need. There were enough factions in this city fighting over it and she, the Network, didn't need the cops against them too. Where Hady had gotten the idea, she didn't know, but it was pouring gasoline on a bonfire. Nothing good was going to come from this.

However, there were other problems that she hadn't foreseen. See, the idea for the Network was a good one in light of what was going on. The good guys needed to unite instead of fighting isolated battles across the city. They needed to help each other and coordinate their activities.

This ended up bringing together a group of people with various skills, experiences, and egos. Each one had a way of doing things, even if it were in group settings. Bluebird and Spoiler took their cues from Nightwing, even kowtowing to the veterans of the group. While that was professional and respectable, it limited their involvement to being sidelines for the most part.

Red Hood, the newest addition of the Batclan, was completely different. He was green, anyone could see that. He had little experience in a team setting, so he was chafing at the structures necessary to keep a team together. The larger the group, the more voices there were, and the more emphasis there was on group agreement. Perhaps that was a limiting factor in what they were all used to doing.

Still, Red Hood could only see the forest for the trees. There were a hundred steps they had to take in order to save Gotham and he was looking at step ninety six and they were at step twelve. There was also his own ego that no doubt had been bruised lately and thus he was over-compensating. If he had more skill, perhaps he could be more useful than his old tactic of hitting something hard only to find out he was punching a brick wall.

He needed more training, that much was obvious. That needed to be rectified sooner rather than later. There wasn't really any excuse considering the number of fighters they had. Perhaps she needed to talk to Nightwing of getting all of the younger vigilantes a little more variety in their training.

Helena found herself looking to her mask again, her hand absently raising it into sight once more. She couldn't help but think about the last night or so following the declaration of martial law, not to mention the museum fight. The Network had scoured the city for Bane's Venom stashes, coming up empty handed. She knew they were out there, hidden within the city. Unfortunately, Bane had been thorough and the stashes were too well hidden for them to find.

She felt her frustration returning. It had cooled off for a moment while she had been been thinking of the Batclan, but now it was back in full force. How did a man who barely knew the area keep his resources so well hidden? They had home field advantage for crying out loud! They should have found something, be it the Venom, a weapon's dump, something.

Which was another thing. How the heck was the GCPD finding these dumps? They didn't have a glowing reputation for being competent. One just had to look at the resident vigilante presence to understand that. Yet, they were doing more damage to Bane's operation than they were.

So naturally, that was when the sound of a phone ringing broke her concentration. Growling, Helena stuck a hand into one of her belt pouches, yanking out her cell phone. She stared at the caller ID until she recognized the name on the screen. Quickly, she answered it. "What do you want?"

" _Nice greeting,"_ Dinah answered her, humor in her voice. " _I take it this is a bad time to bum a ride."_

Helena raised an eyebrow. "A ride from where? Aren't you supposed to be enjoying your time in the Keys or something?"

" _Been there, done that. Red Robin and I just landed at the tarmac at Gotham International."_

"So why don't you call your boy toy? I'm sure he has a few cars sitting around collecting dust."

" _I would have, but your name was the first one I found in my contact list."_

 _Lazy bitch._ "I'll go let Arrow know you need to bum a ride, alright? And next time you want to bother someone about getting picked up, just put his name at the top of your contact list."

" _Now why would I do that when I have you to get things done for me?"_

As good as it was to have Canary back, Helena could have done without the snarkiness. Though she was a professional to a T, Dinah had a sarcastic side to her that came out when she wanted nothing more than to annoy the dark-haired woman. "This is me hanging up," she responded before she ended the call. Sighing, she put her phone back in her belt and then placed her mask back onto her face.

It was time to get back into the saddle.

* * *

To FlackAttack: Ra's has always viewed Bruce favorably. It's why he is the only person Ra's has ever extended multiple offers to. You are on the right track that the Lazarus Pit and Restoration Pool did return his body to a more youthful age. Now mentally is a different matter.


	29. Terror At Gotham Mercy

For a 21st century hacker, technology was a godsend. Anything and everything could be accessed through it.

Everything except for hospital wards.

Due to federal laws, there wasn't a single security camera in patient areas. The rooms, the hallways, nurse's station, none of it was being watched. That was a giant blind spot if someone wanted to get a visual.

It had taken some time, but Barbara had recalled a time when her father had been in the hospital. It had been after the Joker's first use of Joker Venom and the police force had done their damnedest to make sure no one got to her father, one of the only survivors of that attack.

There had been a couple prisoner patients in the hospital at the time and one of them had explained the protocol for having one in a hospital setting. Two guards were present at all times, one unarmed in the room and the other outside the door, armed. The prisoner would be restrained with handcuffs, though the nurses made sure the handcuffs weren't so tight so as to cause damage to the skin.

In today's world, it was highly encouraged for officers to wear body cams to record interactions with the public. Using that, Barbara hacked into the GCPD and located the footage from the cams. While she had been expecting the body cams to be recorded on the officers, she was surprised to find the specific cameras transmitted when they recorded to a database at the precinct; this was to preserve any footage in the event the body cam was damaged.

From there, it was only a matter of time until she found footage that was currently being recorded. Shifting through that, she found found the footage for the ones at Gotham Mercy.

It seemed due to Hugo Strange's high profile, her father had managed to convince the hospital to allow him to double the security. This still had to follow hospital protocol, but there were two unarmed guards in the room and two armed ones at the door. From the footage, Barbara could make out handcuffs, one each around Strange's wrists and ankles. His body seemed smaller, though it still maintained the bulk from his Monster Man serum. There was a tube sticking out of his mouth and all sorts of machines monitoring his vital signs and heart rhythms. A small computer extended from the wall, the monitor showing the login for the hospital's charting system.

Currently, Barbara was in the process of hacking the hospital's system to determine the exact location of Strange's room, what his condition was, and what the plan of care was going forward. It was proving harder than she had thought, but then you didn't hear about hospitals being successfully hacked like businesses and internet companies.

In the meantime, the redhead had one of her monitor's dedicated to the body cameras in Strange's room. Every so often she would glance at it, only to see that Strange hadn't so much as twitched in his hospital bed. She wasn't sure why she expect anything different, but she just couldn't help herself.

After everything he had done, she couldn't help but take some satisfaction in his current status.

Returning her attention back to her main monitor, Barbara got back to work on hacking into the hospital. There was no rest for the weary after all.

* * *

The automatic doors opened and in stepped a man in a long coat into the hospital lobby. He glanced at the number of people taking up chairs or standing out of the way as hospital trafficked in and out of intersection hallways. Falling onto the front desk, his eyes lit up and he took his first steps into the building.

Crane ignored the sight of various people with varying degrees of injury, whether they were hurt, or if they were waiting for updates on their loved ones. For the time being, they meant little to him, though his gaze lingered on those who showed any kinds of anxiety. None of it was quite fear-based, though they were a step away from it.

Reaching the front desk, he stood in line and waited his turn like any law-abiding citizen. The former scientist bided his time by continuing to observe the people in this place, taking in the sight of human suffering. None of it moved him, or reminded him of his mortality. When it came down to it, it was fear that drove them all here, specifically the fear of death, and pain was only its dreaded precursor. All of them here were afraid of death even though a place like this was steeped with it.

It was fascinating to see just how far a person would go to avoid it.

Eventually, he arrived at the front of the line where a bored-appearing receptionist barely gave him a look. "What's your emergency?" she asked dully.

Ah yes, this was the emergency room. They were only concerned with patients who needed immediate help, though it was used more for those poverty-stricken and in need of any kind of medical service.

"Actually, I'm here to visit a patient already in admittance," Crane answered as he placed his lower arms on the counter and leaned forward.

"Visiting hours are over, Sir. Please come back tomorrow," the receptionist deadpanned.

"My apologies, I'm afraid I wasn't aware of that. Perhaps you could make an exception. I'm here to see my friend, Hugo Strange," Crane pressed.

The receptionist stared at him. "Visiting hours are over, Sir. Please come back tomorrow," she repeated.

"Would you mind looking up his room number? That way I can arrive here bright and early and not disturb you?" he asked mildly.

"I'm can't do that, sSir. This desk is for people with real emergencies. Please come back tomorrow."

"Fine," he said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Have it your way."

And with that, he left his coveted spot at the front desk and began heading back to the entrance, like any normal person rebuffed by the hospital staff. Unlike a regular person, he began dropping small balls onto the floor that bounced and rolled away unnoticed by all. He would take a couple steps and slip one out, keeping an unneeded eye out for anyone that might catch on.

He didn't need to watch the balls; they were designed to release a concentrated version of his aerosol fear toxin after a set amount of time had passed. The timer itself was activated with the initial collision with the floor, and delayed by a sensor that detected motion. Once it had stopped moving, the gas be released.

By the time he reached the automatic doors, he stopped himself just before the doors' sensor could detect him. Reaching into his coat, he withdrew a brown-colored mask, his fingers slipping into it to activate the air filter embedded in it. By now, the first ball should be releasing its contents. In less than five minutes, much of the lobby should be exposed.

Putting the mask on, he made a few adjustment to it before pulling out a small taser gun. Aiming it at the door sensor, he fired the four prongs and shorted not only the sensor, but the electrical wiring to the doors. The emergency room would be closing down for the night.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" a aggravated voice demanded. To him, it sounded like that receptionist.

"I changed my mind, Miss," Crane replied, turning on his heel to face the rest of the lobby. To his keen eyes, he could see the dullards around him widen theirs, the first signs of the gas beginning to affect them. "You're going to have to make an exception to your visitation policy."

* * *

Barbara frowned as her attention was drawn to the monitor that was keeping an eye on Gotham Mercy. The footage of the hospital was divided into four different shots of the various security cameras in the building, none of which were anywhere near where the patient rooms were. She could have sworn she saw someone running in one of the shots.

Selecting one of the feeds, she enlarged it so that only one instead of four were visible on the monitor and waited. Nothing seemed to be happening, but she did notice that the shot didn't have anybody in it. Normally there was some light traffic, and even if no one was seen, all it would take was a few seconds before that changed.

Thirty seconds had passed and no one. Barbara was quick to not jump to conclusions here, instead choosing to check another feed. Maybe there was an emergency in another part of the building and as a result required less people in this part.

She flipped through a few more feeds, frowning at a continued absence of people. Now she was starting to get suspicious. If only hospitals had more cameras in them. Wait a second, she just caught sight of someone running around a corner. Moving through the feeds as fast as she could, she stopped abruptly as a view of the entrance to the emergency room came on screen.

There were people there, and it was not a surprise that there were injured people there. What was surprising was that it was the people in there causing the injuries. She could see people attacking one another, and others were curled under seats like they were trying to hide themselves.

One person had picked up a chair and was using it as a weapon, defensively she noted as the guy was swinging it like he was trying to ward something away. The problem there was that there was no one in front of him.

None of this looked right.

"Everyone," she spoke into her comm receiver, "something's happening at Gotham Mercy. Everyone get there immediately. I think it's starting."

* * *

Racing to get to Gotham Mercy, the members of the Network believed they had made good time. Outwardly, the building didn't look like something was happening in it; you could still see lights inside of it. However, as they reached the front entrance, that's when things began to feel...off.

Yes, the lights were on, but there was no one around. It was...empty. Too empty for a place like this. Where was everybody?

"I'm starting to get creeped out," Spoiler muttered.

Naturally, that was when they heard the scream. It sounded like a man's and it sounded far away. Immediately, everyone pulled out whatever weapon they could get their hands on from bo staffs, to bow and arrows, eskrima sticks to birdarangs, and for those without, they balled their hands into fists.

"Let me guess, this is the part where someone says we need to split up," Red Hood snarked.

Ignoring him, Huntress was the one to ask, "Oracle, where's Strange?"

" _Tenth floor, room 1017. So far, the guards on duty haven't been hit yet, but I'm betting that won't last for long. Someone needs to get up there._ "

"Okay, first priority, we need to reach Strange and keep an eye on him," Huntress commanded. "We know he's the end game so let's head the Phantasm off there. I don't care how you get up there, just do it."

"What about those screams?" Green Arrow asked. "Are we going to ignore them?"

"Last I remember, this guy uses fear toxin. Odds are everybody here has been exposed to it," Black Canary answered. "They're going to be panicking like nobody's business. We'll just have to restrain anyone we come across so they can't hurt us or themselves."

No sooner had she spoken that someone ran into sight, a screaming woman who came to an abrupt stop in front of the group of vigilantes. Her eyes were dilated, her breathing rapid, and her skin was drenched with sweat. She gave another scream, one that was positively head-splitting.

"Monsters! There's monsters! Don't eat me!"

Like it was an alarm, other people showed up, most of them looking like normal people, some in regular street clothes and others in hospital scrubs. A couple were in security uniforms, which really shot up the danger level here.

Someone summed it up when they said, "Crap."

There were screams and yells as the group of vigilantes were attacked. Because they were in the front, the Birds were the vanguard that the hospital goers crashed into. One man leapt into the air, flinging himself at Katana and screaming all the while. The Asian vigilante slipped around them and rammed a knee into the man's stomach, then slammed an elbow into the back of his head to effectively knock him out.

Between the two of them, Huntress and Manhunter were using their bo staffs to hold back any that ran at them. With Huntress, it was a man in a flannel and blue jean ensemble along with a male hospital staffer while Manhunter dealt with a nurse and another male hospital worker. Initially pushed back, both women dug their feet into the linoleum floor and pushed back with all their might. It was Black Canary and Nightwing to the rescue, though, the two aiding vigilante removing both male hospital staffers so that the ladies could focus on one person each.

Black Canary had gone in with a high kick to the side of her staffer's head, grabbing onto an arm while spinning around so that her back pressed into her opponent, and then flung him over her shoulder and onto the floor. Nightwing was tackling his man from the side and forcefully dragging him away. Abruptly, his man spun around and swung a fist, which the vigilante ducked and drove an elbow into the man's stomach, and then followed up by smashing his palm up into the guy's chin.

Manhunter took advantage of the aid to tear her staff away from the female nurse, using one end to strike the woman's side, then sweep the other down to knock the lady's legs out from under her. A quick rap of the staff's end knocked the poor, panicking woman out. Huntress was not as lucky as the flannel wearing man retained his grip.

Meanwhile, it was between Green Arrow and the remaining Batclan to mop up the rest. With an arrow already notched, he shot it at one of the two security personnel, the arrowhead detonating and releasing a net to restrain the guard. As that man struggled against the netting, Bluebird and Spoiler tag-teamed a skinny male staffer—wait, his badge said he was a nurse—the former using her taser rifle as a ram to go frontal while Spoiler circled around and struck from behind. Air was forced out of the male nurse's lungs and a blow to his back brought him to his knees. Bluebird finished him off by nailing him in the side of the head with back of her rifle. Coming from the pair's blindside, another hospital goer tried to rush them only to get tripped by Red Robin who had held back. Only now did he act, stopping the charge and subdue the panicked attacker as quick as he could.

That left Red Hood to deal with the last security guard, but he had a problem. Apparently, this guy was packing as he had whipped out a gun. Grabbing a nearby lamp, Red Hood threw the plastic object at the guard who instead of keeping his aim on the vigilante, followed the lamp and opened fire on it. Taking advantage of this, Red Hood tackled the guard from behind, landing a couple kidney shots, and attempted to take the gun away. If the guard was stunned, that was over quickly as he began to struggle for the weapon, almost desperately trying not to lose it. If you paid any attention, you could see tears running down the side of his face, like he was fighting for his life and knew he was losing.

That struggle ended when a boxing glove put him out of his misery.

At that time, the flannel-wearing man tore Huntress' bo staff out of her grasp, the vigilante pulling back instinctively. This guy had proven to be strong, in that he hadn't let of the staff at any time and Huntress had been unable to yank it away. Now she was on the defensive, waiting for the snarling man to attack her.

Holding the staff at one of its end, the man raised it above his head like it was a club, or more likely a baseball bat. That's why he underestimated its length and the other end of the staff crashed into a light fixture. Immediately, his body began to shake as electricity flowed through the metal staff and into his body, his hands reflexively tightening their grip on the weapon. Eyes widening, Huntress lunged forward, keeping her body low and angling her shoulder so that it was the part of her body that was in front.

She rammed into the man's stomach and the force of throwing her body into him was enough to knock him back and remove the bo staff from the light fixture. Down the guy went, his body twitching and spasming from the residue electricity still working its way throughout his body, but a quick pulse check revealed he still had a heartbeat.

He was definitely going to need some medical attention, though.

"Was it just me, or was that crazy?" Green Arrow asked.

"Something's not right about this," Huntress stated.

"They were panicked. Too panicked," Katana agreed.

"You're saying they were scared?" Bluebird asked, looking bewildered at the women.

"Let's not go over how we know the Phantasm uses fear toxin. There's a reason it makes people scared and that's what it does," Nightwing spoke up. "I haven't seen anything like this since the October 27 Attack."

"You and me both," Red Robin agreed as he tested the custom-made cuffs he had put on his guy.

"Whoa, this guy has some track marks on him," Red Hood called out, his eyes trained on one of the security guard's arms.

"Let me see," Manhunter said, walking fast to reach the man in question. There on the lower arm were four puncture sites, though they weren't in a straight line. They weren't scattered either, and if you squinted your eyes enough, you could it was more like a curve pattern.

"This guys has some in his neck," Black Canary added, checking the man she had knocked out. "Since when did the Phantasm start injecting people? Is that stuff even injectable?"

"Something stinks to high heave,n but we're not going to find out what it is sticking around here," Huntress said. "Let's move people. We need to get to Strange first before anything else."

* * *

The sight of the police officers was a dead giveaway as to which room Strange was held in. There were two men, both trying to speak over the radio and receiving no answer. Crane's distraction was working.

One of the guards had his hand over the handle of his gun; he hadn't taken it out yet, but it was obvious that he was nervous, willing to answer any sign of trouble with a bullet. They were expecting trouble, but the Phantasm had no intention of being the kind they were expecting.

It allowed its smoke to flow over the floor, making its way to the two officers who had yet to notice its approach. In time they would, but it would be far too late for either of them to do anything. When the smoke began to wisp around their feet, the Phantasm began to cover itself with the smokescreen before stepping out into the hallway and heading directly to the two men.

The masked killer was within feet of the guarded room when the officers finally noticed the smoke. "Is there a fire, Davis?" the guard with his hand over his gun demanded, pulling out his firearm and raising it up to point into the smoke.

That's when it struck, swinging its bladed hand out and disarming the cop. The gun was cut in half, the barrel clattering onto the floor. With its other hand, the wraith shoved the man into the wall and used him as a prop to surge forward and hold itself up as it landed a kick to the face of the other guard. The second guard's head snapped back and he stumbled away.

Reversing its grip on the first guard, it pulled down and used its weaponized arm to flip and throw the man into his partner, knocking the still standing officer to the floor. The second guard's head bounced off the tiled floor, his body going limp under his partner's. Quickly moving, the masked killer stomped its foot on the first guard's head to knock him out.

Those two were taken care of. Because they were not its target, the Phantasm held no interest in killing them. What would be the point? They were in the wrong place at the wrong time doing their jobs and there was no sin in that. Neither deserved the ultimate punishment.

Turning to the door, the Phantasm eyed it, assuming that it would be locked. What had happened only seconds ago hadn't been quiet and if there was anyone inside, they would more than likely have locked the door.

Except, as the Phantasm studied the door, it saw no keyhole, or any indication of a locking mechanism. Reaching out with its empty hand, it grabbed onto the door handle and pushed against it. Amazingly enough, the door opened.

Suddenly, a force from the other side pushed back; there was someone inside and they were trying to keep the door closed. Making a quick calculation, the Phantasm held its bladed hand by the barrier and fired its large blade into it. As the plastic coating crumbled and the reinforced cardboard splinter, there was a cry on the other side and a lessening of force.

Retrieving the blade, the masked killer picked up a leg and kick the door in, a cop on the other side stumbling back and onto the floor from being struck. Taking a step into the room, the Phantasm braced itself at the last second as a large, uniformed cop came from a side and ran into it. Catching the tackle, the murderous vigilante struggled with the dark-skinned cop, the man not letting up with the grapple for a moment.

The two combatants grunted with their efforts, the guard managing to overpower the killer momentarily, which was long enough to slam the hooded intruder into a wall. Booted feet screeched against the floor as the Phantasm tried to pull away, but to no avail. If brute force wasn't enough, some finesse was needed.

As the guard tried to hit the killer against the wall again, the hooded intruder raised a booted foot and planted on that wall. In a second, the Phantasm ran up it and pushed off, going over the man's head and behind him. Turned so that it would not be lethal, the Phantasm brought its bladed hand down and struck the back of the officer's head with the flat end of the blade. The man gave a cry as crumpled beneath the blow, the killer lifting that same weaponized hand, pulling it back and landing a second, blunt hit to the side of the man's head, smashing it into the wall.

Reacting quickly, the skull-masked vigilante turned to a side caught the arm of the last remaining, conscious guard. The man had tried to sneak up on the killer, but obviously had been unsuccessful. With a tight grip, it then leveraged the arm and threw the man over its shoulder, forcing the guard to land on top of his colleague. Raising a foot, it kicked down and finished that last bit of resistance.

There, now there was no one left to get in its way. Scanning to room to be sure, the Phantasm then approached Hugo Strange's prone form. Still retaining the effects of his Monster Man serum, the body had retained its muscular form. It would take some time for there to be any decrease in mass. This meant that if the murderous vigilante wanted to kill, it was either go for one of the body's more vulnerable areas, or make sure its weapon was sharp.

Pausing, the Phantasm listened to the heart monitor and the steady beating. That was interesting; though this machine was suppose to monitor signs of life, it would serve to prove Strange's death once and for all.

Coming to a stop at Strange's bedside, it eyed the comatose man's chest, exactly where the heart was. That looked as good as any place to start.

Without any delay, the Phantasm raised its bladed hand over its head, and prepared to bring this to an end.

* * *

They had managed to go up several flights of stairs before they ran into more poisoned people, and all of them were very determined to tear apart anyone that got in their way. A shame that these law-upholding vigilantes happened to be there.

Sucked to be them, eh?

At some point, they had all gotten separated. Green Arrow hoped that the kiddos were still together, but when you had a bunch of people trying to rip your arms out of their sockets, you tended to overlook some things.

Right now, the transplant from Star City was was taking a count of the arrows he had on him all the while bludgeoning a doctor with the handle of his bow. He didn't like having to use his bow like a club, but right now the last thing he wanted to do was turn innocent, terrified people into pin cushions.

Hearing a yell up ahead, he grimaced as he saw a middle-aged man, most likely here to visit someone, running at him with a fire axe. The archer dodged to a side as the axe blade swung down, missing by more than a mile. Grabbing a chair that was situated in the hallway, he used the furniture to block the follow up swing. He blocked a second swing, then a third, before ramming what was left of the hacked wooden chair forward and forced the man back.

While he stumbled back, the axe-wielding man tightened his grip on the axe handle and came changing at the vigilante once more, screaming all the while. Instead of using the chair to block the axe blade, Green Arrow thrusted the piece of furniture at the handle then twisted to a side. The chair's cushion caught the axe under its blade and when the chair itself was thrown to a side, the weapon was pulled out of the panicked man's hand.

Not even hesitating, Arrow spun and swung a kick, landing it in the side of the man's head and taking him out. Phew, that had been a little jarring. He was going to have to do something about some of the potential deadly weapons that were around this place.

First thing was first, time to find out where everyone was.

"Hey—hold on a sec."

Just as he was able to contact Oracle, someone burst out of a room and they were holding a syringe like it was a weapon. That reminded him, were his shots up to date? Hopefully that wasn't a needle found in the trash can.

Normally, Green Arrow would have decked anyone who tried to stab him non-medically with a needle, but this was a woman, a nurse by all appearance, and that made him feel a little bad. He quickly backed up as the sobbing woman was a slave to her fight-or-flight response, and it was obvious she was picking fight.

"Leave me alone, please leave me alone!" the woman sobbed.

"I'm trying to, but you won't let me," he retorted

Catching the woman by her wrist, the one with the syringe, he twisted that hand to a side and threw his head forward, headbutting the poor woman. And down she went, stunned, and slowly falling into unconsciousness. He still took the time to take the syringe out of her iron grip, but that wasn't because he was nervous about any needles.

You know, an arrow that could serve as a tranquilizer was starting to look good right about now. A shame he didn't have one on him, or had invented one yet. The only arrows he had were offensive, and tended to be sharp and pointy, or shocking to say the least. He had already used up the nets and restraining arrows, and he only really kept one with the boxing glove crammed into it.

Yes, those things were hard to get into an arrow tip.

"Okay, Arrow's here. Where's everyone else?" he spoke out loud, hand placed by his ear.

" _Which floor are you on? I'm not seeing you on any of the feeds_ ," their suppose-to-be eye on the ground told him. " _Quick, what are the room numbers?_ "

Resisting the urge to give a sigh, the Emerald Archer took a quick look at the nearest door. "Says 404."

" _You're on the fourth floor; you need to get to the tenth_ ," Oracle told him. " _You must be in the northwest corner. There's a stairwell in the southwest, if you can get there_."

"On it," he said.

So it was a climb up a bunch more stairs, huh? Maybe it would be better to take the elevator.

An arm suddenly wrapped around his neck and pulled back, yanking him off-balance. Arrow was already grabbing at it even as he reset his feet, ready to throw whoever it was behind him. No one snuck—OW!

Four needles—yes _four_ —were stabbed into the side of his neck. "You look like the strong sort," a voice whispered close to his ear. "Let's see how you'll react."

* * *

If there was anyone that was going to find this Phantom guy, of course it was going to be one of the inexperienced guys. That's how it worked in the movies and books and TV shows.

Spoiler had been the one to find Strange's hospital room. That's right, her, the Spoiler, heartthrob of teen boys everywhere. Not Black Canary with her kickass fishnets, or Huntress and her mean right hook. Even that archer guy would've been a better choice. No, it had to be her in her pink cloak that found the unconscious policemen lying on the floor.

At least, she was hoping they were unconscious.

With a trembling hand, Spoiler pulled out a birdarang and it shook in her hand. "Umm, Oracle? Nightwing? Anyone?" she spoke into the receiver of her comm link. "I think I found that Strange guy's room."

Oracle immediately responded to her. " _What's your situation?"_

"Umm, well, I see a couple of the guards lying on the floor outside the room. I...I think that creepy guy might be here."

" _Have you got a visual on the Phantasm or Strange?"_ Oracle demanded, her tone getting even more serious. Spoiler couldn't help but wince from it.

"No, I'm in the hallway a couple doors down."

" _Get a visual and tell me what's going down. I've got help on the way."_

On the way? They needed to be _here!_ Swallowing, Spoiler crept down the hallway, her mind constantly repeating "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," the closer she got to the slumped men. She felt a little bit of relief when she noticed both were still breathing as their chests slowly rose and fell.

However, the moment she got to the doorway, she noticed two more bodies lying on the floor, also dressed like police. Spoiler gulped as she reluctantly stood in the doorway.

There, standing by the bed, was the Phantasm. _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!_ her mind screamed at the sight of the tacky cloak and the very sharp-looking blade on the killer's hand. In fact, the wicked-looking thing was raised above the Phantasm, ready to cut down the unconscious Hugo Strange.

 _Oh, Stephanie, you are_ so _going to hate yourself for this in the morning._

Quickly shooting her birdarang-holding hand up by her head, she then threw the projectile at the Phantasm. She had hoped to hit the guy in the head while he was focused on Strange, but unfortunately, her luck wasn't that good.

As if sensing it, the Phantasm twisted their body around swung their blade, the metal clashing with the metal of the birdarang, causing the collision to ring out. The birdarang was ultimately knocked aside, hitting a wall where one end stuck into the sheetrock.

The Phantasm regarded Spoiler with a look she suspected was either annoyance or disapproval—she wasn't quite sure which one was worse at the moment.

"Do not interfere," he warned the young girl, his blank white eyes boring holes into her anxiety-ridden body. "You cannot stop this."

Now this was the time where she should have said something defiant and witty and perhaps a touch sarcastic. That was how all upstanding girl responded to deadly serious guys. Too bad Spoiler's knees were too busy knocking against each other, not to mention she found her normally loquacious tongue felt like a dead weight in her mouth. However, she did find the courage to backtalk the guy.

"Not today, buster."

Immediately, she made a face underneath her mask. _Not today, buster?_ Really? That was the best she could come up with? Geez, so much for defiant, witty, and sarcastic.

"You have no place here. Leave, or I will strike you down," the Phantasm warned.

Alright, it was time to put up or shut up. Now, it was probably a better idea to tell Oracle what was going on. In fact, she probably should have done that the moment she reached the room. However, life had a way of working in seconds. One second spent hesitating could lead to a second of action, or in this case murder. Talking over the radio versus stopping the kill stroke each took one second, but there was only time for one.

And now she had that same dilemma. One second to tell Oracle what was going on, or one second to defend herself—she could only pick one.

Finding those brass balls Harper kept telling her to find, Spoiler shoved her hands back into her belt and pulled out a couple more birdarangs. In a split-second, she sent them flying at the Phantasm.

Of course, this wasn't some thug in a dark alleyway that didn't know how to defend themselves against birdarangs. This was the Phantasm and with a quick slice of its blade-hand, it deflected one of the birdarangs, then just as fast did a backswing, knocking aside the second one.

Then his threw his gloved hand out in front of him and a burst of dark smoke seemed to fire from his palm. Alarms rang out in Spoiler's head as she remembered all of the warnings of this maniac's gas. That there was fear gas mixed in it. No doubt the Phantasm wanted to freak her out of her mind so that he could buy enough time to finish off Strange.

God, what did it have to be her to find this guy?

Seeing no other real option, Spoiler took a deep breath and took off running, vanishing into the small cloud of smoke before bursting out of the other side. As expected, Phantasm had turned back to regard Strange, his side and back towards the younger vigilante.

Lowering her shoulder, Spoiler ran into the killer's back, wrapping her arms around his waist and trying to pull him away. For a moment, she thought it was weird that the Phantasm was so thin. She was honestly expected this bigger, more muscly guy. And there seemed to be a roundness to the hips that was more noticeable.

Those thoughts took an immediate backseat as the Phantasm jerked backwards a step, twisting and turning their body to throw Spoiler off. The sudden thrashing caused the pink-clad girl to lose her grip and she went sliding across the floor until she crashed into a hospital chair, falling into it clumsily.

"I warned you to stay out of this," the Phantasm growled as he glared—or at least that what she thought the look was—at her. There was a twitch in the arm that the hand-blade was connected to.

Suddenly, a red-and-yellow blur raced into the room. Spoiler only saw this out of the corner of her eye due to the angle she was at. It took a moment for her brain to register Katana leaping at the Phantasm, hitting the dude full-force and tackling him. The force of the hit knocked the Phantasm right off his feet and sent the two lunging for the window.

The glass shattered on impact and the last Spoiler saw was Katana and Phantasm's feet disappearing over the edge. With wide eyes, the young girl stared at the broken window, her heart beating hard in her chest.

Well, Oracle had said help was on the way. This must have been it.

 _Thank you, Oracle._

* * *

To FlackAttack: Consider it a building block for a future storyline


	30. Overcoming Phobia

As part of being a playboy, it gave Ollie the chance, if not expectation of experimenting with drugs.

The club scene was riffed with them. Of course, this wasn't going on at the front of the club, because that would be a dumb way to get caught. No, this was the backroom, VIP lounge settings where blow, heroin, angel dust, and even acid were passed around.

Ollie had tried them, had his preferences, and developed a good understanding on why addicts always wanted another fix.

Right now, the Emerald Archer could feel he was on a trip. A really bad trip. His senses were heightened to an alarming degree. The bland walls of the hospital hallway seemed brighter and pounded at his eyes. He could practically hear the droning of the light bulbs in the light fixtures, buzzing, humming, burning his ear drums. Anxiety was screaming in his mind that nothing was alright.

He could still feel pain right where that guy in the burlap mask had stabbed him. Green Arrow had no doubt these effects were from whatever was injected into him.

He had promptly fled that weird burlap man, getting lost in the hospital's hallways. He normally didn't run, but when some unknown substance was injected into him, he made it a point not to give his attacker a second chance at him. He half-expected he would be followed, yet he wasn't. Just the thought set his teeth on edge.

What was that?! Arrow held his bow up, arrow notched onto the bowstring. He could hear a sound repeatedly beating. Were those footsteps? They sounded loud for footsteps. It sure as hell wasn't a leaky water pipe.

And then it showed. A gangly, black creature appeared from around a corner, a dreadful hissing coming from its drooling mouth, very sharp, bloody teeth gleaming in the light. It stared at him, though Arrow couldn't see where its eyes were. It was like looking at that Xenomorph from Alien, except there was a yellow flame rising up from its skull.

It let out a thunderous growl then.

Green Arrow released his arrow.

The arrow rocketed through the air, flying right for the monster's head. At the last moment, it jerked to a side, twisting until its profile was facing the archer. Immediately, Ollie had another arrow and fired it, again aiming for a headshot.

By then, the monster had turned its head to see the next arrow, ducking it as the arrow flew over its head and the arrowhead ended up embedded in the wall. The creature roared again, but seemed to be backing away from him.

Oh yeah, he rather preferred that option.

"Alright, you ugly son of a bitch," he murmured to himself as he pulled out another arrow. No doubt, if he left this thing to run throughout the hospital, it was going to snack on some unfortunate patient. No way was he going to allow that. "Let's see you try dodging this one."

Instead of firing right at his target, he suddenly jerked the bow down and fired the arrow towards the monster's feet. The arrowhead ended up hitting the floor several feet in front of the Alien-knockoff, only for it to ricochet off the ground and shot right up fro the monster's stomach.

Again it dodged, though it hissed as it twisted out of the arrow's changed trajectory. Green Arrow had to stare hard, but he could just make out a green line on its dark skin, one that was beginning to leak out some kind of thick liquid. That must have been blood.

That was when the monster took a step towards him and then another, growling animalistic sounds at him. It even reached out for him with one of its clawed hands.

Normally, such a move wouldn't have bothered the blond-haired man. This time, he could feel the hair on the back of his neck stiffen, a healthy dose of fear causing his stomach to drop and a shiver to run up his spine. Immediately, he reached for his quiver.

That was when the creature roared, the very air filling the hallway rushing away from it. Green Arrow felt an incredible force ram into him, sending him flying backwards through the hallway. His flight came to a sudden stop the moment his back crashed into a door, though the door held firm instead of breaking. Ollie fell to the floor, lying on it as he tried to catch his breath.

Hearing footsteps again, he jerked his head up and saw the monster running towards him. Spying a hallway off to his right, he immediately rolled to his right, scrambling onto his hands and knees even as the monster skidded to a stop right where he had been laying. Though he still had his bow in hand, there wasn't enough time to get an arrow ready.

So as he rose up onto his feet, Green Arrow held his bow with both hands, one on either end. The black monster darted back down the hallway it had come from, keeping its front facing him. Letting go of one end with one hand and moving it next to this other, Arrow swung his bow like a bat, again the monster making up a stop to avoid the swing.

Arrow then promptly brought his hands to his hip, the opposite end of his bow sticking out in front of him. He then thrust it forward, finally scoring a hit as he rammed his bow into the creature's abdomen. Even as the monster bent over from the blow, Green Arrow pulled his bow back only to thrust it back again, delivering another blow to its stomach.

That was when the black monster suddenly shot its arms out, its hands grabbing onto the bow. With unbridled strength, it ripped the bow out of the archer's hands, spinning around to throw it down the hallway, where it clattered across the floor.

Undeterred by this, Green Arrow drew back his left fist. By the time the monster turned back to hiss at him, he had thrown his fist, slamming it into the side of its...well, whatever it called a face. Its head snapped to a side, but then quickly jerked it back, backing up a few steps as it raised its own hands up, holding them much like a boxer would.

That looked a little strange.

"So you want to box, huh?" he spoke as he also held his dukes up. He could feel his heart beating faster in his chest, constantly pounding. "So let's box."

* * *

This was so ridiculous, it was insane. Red Hood was used to the streets, you know, where anything could happen. Bad reactions to drugs, drive-bys going wrong, and costumed vigilantes roaming the streets and looking for punks to beat up were things he knew and was used to.

Being stuck in a building with a bunch of people who looked they were all on a bad trip, or had taken some bath salts was a new experience.

And no, he did not feel guilty for beating up any of them.

"Why the hell are we dealing with this shit," he grumbled, looking around for any signs of more crazy people, or the others. When he found none, he added, "Should be beating up Bane, not this."

He had gotten separated from the others at some point, wasn't sure when, and he had no idea where he was now. Top floor, bottom floor, somewhere in between, he had no clue. It all looked the same to him. It wasn't like he willingly went to hospitals, not when there was a free clinic in the neighborhood.

How was he going to find them now? This was all total bullshit, seriously. This wasn't what he signed up for. Wait, there was that chick over the radio or whatever. He had gotten one of those ear things, but never really used or paid attention to it. Nightwing usually took responsibility for that, but that didn't mean he didn't have to put it on him.

Now where was it? He hadn't put it in his ear...but he had stuck it on his belt. Which pocket was it again? It wasn't that one, or that one, or that one either...not this one too…

Checking a few more, he finally found what he was looking for. Putting it in his ear, he waited a second before saying out loud, "Hey, Oracle chick. Where the hell is everybody? I can't find any of them."

To his surprise, his answer came quick. " _Is that you, Red Hood? Look at the doors around you and tell me the number._ "

"Uh, why do I need to do that?" he asked, already looking for the nearest door. That one didn't have a number on it, but it had a thing on the wall next to it that said it belonged to maintenance.

" _It'll tell me what floor and where on that floor you are. So what's the number?_ "

Moving down the hallway, Red Hood continued to look—hold up, there was something. "It's 347," he said.

" _Alright, you're in the southeast part of the third floor. I need for you to go straight, make sure you see numbers bigger than 347, like 348, 349, and up ahead you'll find the elevators along with the stairs. Pick one and get yourself to the tenth floor._ "

You know, normally he'd be a bit pissed that she went into all that detail, because he wasn't slow or stupid or anything like that, but the way she said it made him want to overlook that. He didn't know why, though.

Instead, he found himself saying, "Alright, I'm heading there."

Continuing in the direction he was facing, he kept an eye for door numbers and saw that the numbers were increasing. Okay, he was heading in the right direction.

Then suddenly someone rounded the corner up ahead and came to a stop. So did Red Hood who held his arms up, ready to defend himself. Christ, was it another crazy person?

"My, my, if I haven't found a little one," the person up ahead said, starting to take slow steps that brought him closer to the masked teen. "It appears your type is everywhere in here. You wouldn't happen to be trying to stop my colleague, would you?"

As the person drew closer, Red Hood was able to make out more details of him. He wore this black coat that went down to his knees, the coat unbuttoned revealing some raggedy clothing underneath that looked all patched up. The big part was what looked like a burlap bag over the man's head that had stitching in it, like someone sewed a face into it. Then there was the noose that hung around a thin neck, which looked kinda stupid to the teen.

"Who the hell are you, freakshow?" Red Hood demanded, tightening his fists. "You want a go?"

"So disrespectful," the masked man tsked. "Trying to be all macho, are you? From here, you look so tense, so stressed. It's a good thing for you that I happen to have something to help you with that. It's your lucky day, kid. The doctor…"

The masked man held his right arm out from him, his fingers stretching out. Without warning, four really long needles seemed to pop out from the fingertips.

"...is in."

Red Hood found that his attention was focused solely on that hand. If he was tense before, it had nothing on what he was feeling now. Already, his body was locking up as his eyes trailed over how fucking long those fucking needles were. Why the hell did those things have to be that fucking long? It made no sense!

 _Needles. Why'd it have to be needles?_

"Come, child," the masked man said, taking a step closer to the teen vigilante. "Let Dr. Scarecrow take away all the anxiety and replace it with your worst fears. It'll be...educational."

The normally tough and brash Red Hood took a step back in response. There was no way in hell he was getting anywhere near this guy, not with those Freddy Kruger needles on his hand. Yeah, was it a bad time to admit he had a problem with needles?

As the guy with the sack on his head—he had called himself Dr. Scarecrow, hadn't he?—attempted to get closer to him, the masked teen continued back away, not wanting those needles anywhere near him. Pausing, the man seemed to become thoughtful.

"Hmm, it seems as if I don't need the toxin in you to make you afraid. Do my eyes deceive, or are you anxious around," he stiffened his fingers, making the needles rattle, "needles?" When Red Hood didn't say anything, the masked man laughed. "Now why would you come to a hospital of all places? Why, there are so many ways you could be _stabbed_ with one. Especially this floor. This is the one where they have all their vaccinations. So many diseases, all ready to be injected into you."

 _Shut up, man!_ Wait, he hadn't said that out loud. "I'm not scared!" he shouted back, not making any attempt to get closer.

"And now my ears burn with lies. You should be more honest, kiddo. Don't worry, there is nothing more truthful than absolute, _primal_ fear. Here, let me give you some!"

To Red Hood's horror, the Scarecrow man lunged out him.

* * *

As shards of glass fell about it, the Phantasm kicked away the vigilante that had tackled it out of the window while stabbing its bladed hand into the building beside it. Its arm was yanked as gravity continued to pull down on the rest of its body, but it was successful in stopping its fall.

As it so happened, its feet hovered by a small ledge that jutted out of the building. Placing its feet down, it steadied itself before removing its blade hand from the wall. Because the wall itself was made of brick, there were small gaps between the brick rows, which the Phantasm shoved its fingers in to better steady itself.

Even though the masked killer was frustrated that it had been unable to finish off its target, it was not ignorant to the threat its attacker represented. Below it, the vigilante it had kicked away and pulled out two wakizashi—a Japanese short sword—and was using one to steady herself against the building's side in much the same that Phantasm had with its blade.

Unlike the Phantasm, the vigilante was propelling herself upward and right at the killer. Unlike that girl before, this one was willing to be aggressive.

Surrounding itself with its smoke, the masked killed allowed itself to vanish from sight as the sword-wielding vigilante went on the attack, slashing with one of her short swords. The costumed woman flew into and through the cloud of smoke, hitting nothing as she emerged through the other side. That's when the killer emerged from behind her, thrusting forward with its scythe-like blade.

As if sensing it, the vigilante had twisted an arm behind herself and blocked with the other short sword. Then spinning her body around, she slashed once more even as momentum pulled her away from the wraith. Finding footing on a ledge, the Phantasm threw out its other hand and shot out three needle-shaped throwing projectiles, trails of smoke following in their wake.

Impressively, the vigilante evaded the attack, stabbing a short sword in the building beside her and throwing herself upwards and doing so without letting go of the sword handle. She then stabbed her other sword into the vertical surface, but only so she could removed the first sword. Repeating the same action with the second, the vigilante used gravity to propel herself as she leapt at the masked killer.

It blocked a kick with its arm, the limb trembling under the force of the blow. Next it ducked under a second kick, then pulled back as a sword slash came from above, but after the vigilante had somehow flipped over herself after kicking off its arm.

Crossing the arm with the bladed hand in front of it, the skull-masked killer made a slash of its own, the vigilante ducking under it. The blade jarred against the side of the building, but it wasn't enough to stop it from turning the blade downward and slice down in that direction. Bending its elbow, it flipped up its lower arm to block the following sword slash, but then had to press itself against the building to dodge the following sword thrust.

Throwing out a leg, it swung a kick and managed to land a blow in the vigilante's side. The vigilante then snaked an arm around its leg and trapped the limb against her side. With a heave, she twisted her torso,which had the effect of tearing the Phantasm off its perch and away from the building. Instead of resisting, the killer kicked off the wall beside it, adding more momentum so that instead of immediately falling, it moved around the sword-wielding vigilante while using its leg as a fulcrum.

And then it was behind the vigilante, leaving her in a vulnerable position. As if realizing this, the masked vigilante released the leg and let herself drop off the ledge, narrowing avoiding the slash that came at her head.

She didn't fall far as she stabbed a short sword into the building, continuing to drop for a few more feet as the blade tore through the concrete. Coming to a stop, the vigilante threw herself upwards once more, pulling the sword out of the wall simultaneously.

Instead of waiting, the Phantasm let itself fall, rapidly closing the distance with its opponent. The moment the two collided, it was as if they hovered in midair, a flurry of slashes, blocks, parries, kicks, and punches followed as both combatants tried to land a hit on one another. The masked killer was forced to use its bladed hand to block a sword slash in the initial clash, and then knock aside a thrust that came at it soon after. It then countered with a slash of its on, which caused the masked woman below it to go on the defensive, blocking the strike with her short sword.

Then the forces of gravity and momentum kicked in and the two fighters passed one another. The Phantasm let a whole story pass it by before catching onto a ledge with one hand. Its arm felt like it was about to pulled out of its socket, but it endure and pulled itself into position that it could look up without having to strain its neck, feet planted on the building.

Up above, the vigilante was rocketed down towards it, swords held out from her body. Readying itself, the killer waited for the inevitable slash before stabbing with its bladed hand. Showing off a keen eye and perfect timing, it managed to slip the sword between its scythe-like blade and the metal stub jutting out opposite of the large blade. Bending and twisting its arm, it yanked the sword out of the vigilante's grasp and sent the weapon falling to the ground below.

What neither knew was that the sword would never land there. Instead it encountered a fuse box on the ground floor, the sword stabbing into it and destroying the hospital's connection to the city's power grid. Sparks flew out from the fuse box as it was shorted, smoke emerging out from it and an ominous crackling noise was emitted from the damaged device.

Neither paid any mind as the lights within the hospital flickered for a second, an emergency generator kicking in immediately.

No, both were too focused on the other, determined to claim victory. The life of one man was all they were fighting for, one to end it and the other to save it.

* * *

The moment the lights went off, bathing the hallway in darkness, Bluebird knew something was not right. Several seconds went by, her heart beating faster and faster, until the lights blinked back on.

Thank God for backup generators.

A microsecond later, Oracle's voice went off in her ear. " _Head's up everyone, a transformer went out outside of the hospital. The backup generators should be turning on."_

Well, she was a little late. " _However, if that generator goes out, we're going to have ourselves a really big problem."_

Bluebird suddenly was struck but inspiration. She could just feel that Oracle was going to suggest—more like demand—someone go check on the generator and make sure it wasn't damaged. While the purpose of a backup was to make sure there was a constant supply of power to the hospital, you would think it was regularly maintained to ensure it would work.

Goes to show how much faith Oracle had in the hospital's maintenance team.

"I'll go check on it," she immediately spoke once she was sure none of the others had volunteered. Since she did do maintenance work for her day job, she was the most logical to go there and determine if the generator would hold. If there was any damage, she was fairly certain she could repair it.

" _You sure you know what you're doing?"_ the computer hacker asked her.

"Day job, O, day job," she answered as she began making her way down the hallway again. "Do you know where they keep the generator?"

There were several moments of silence. Then, " _According to the blueprint I have it should be in the basement. What's your current location?"_

Coming to an elevator shaft, Bluebird hung her taser gun over her shoulder by its strap. Pulling out a birdarang from her belt, she began wiggling it in between the elevator doors until she was able to leverage enough space between them so that her fingers could fit. Doing so, she pried the doors open, finding the second set of doors that sealed off the elevator shaft.

Now, if she wasn't mistaken, there was a lever somewhere on these doors that stood in as an emergency lock. That way if anyone was stuck in the elevator, they could open it from the outside. Finding it towards the top, Bluebird grabbed it and forced it upward, the second set of doors smoothly sliding open.

" _Bluebird, what's your location,"_ Oracle repeated herself, her tone revealing her annoyance.

"Just a sec," she replied before she jumped out to the elevator cables, grabbing onto them with her hands as her legs wrapped around them. Holding herself there, she then looked down and then up, finding the elevator a few floors up.

She then began loosening her grip, sliding down the cable until she reached the bottom. Once she did, she finally said to Oracle, "I'm at the bottom of the elevator shaft, about to be on the basement level. Just give me a minute."

It was a little more difficult to open the doors from the inside of the shaft than the outside. Still, she managed to get the doors open and stepped into a dimly lit corridor. Apparently this part of the hospital wasn't deemed important enough for additional power, not that she could blame anyone. Rolling her shoulder, the strap to her taser gun slipped off, causing it to fall to her hand, where she caught it. Swinging it up, she caught her weapon and made sure she had it pointed out in front of her. One could never be too careful.

Creeping down the cement hallway, Bluebird searched around for any threats, taking note of the small plaques on the sparse number of doors. They were closets mostly, or so she guessed. She only had one door she was looking for.

There was a clattering sound, one that made her spin around. It had come from behind her somewhere. Staring down the sight of her taser gun, she kept her eyes trained towards the elevator. The hair on the back of her neck was standing on end.

God, this place was creepy.

As the seconds passed by with no sign of anyone, Bluebird relaxed slightly, but didn't completely lower her guard. Turning back around, she began walking down the hallway again until she found a door labeled GENERATOR.

Opening the door, she was initially greeted with darkness. Her ears told her something was in here, the constant hum of a generator no doubt. Spotting a switch out of the corner of her eye, she moved one hand from her electrical weapon and reached out for it, flipping the switch.

A light bulb from an overhead light fixture immediately flashed on, lighting up the room and confirming that this was indeed where the backup generator was. There was no outer casing so she could see right into the mechanics of the machine, seeing the turbine spinning so fast that it was a blur. Raising a hand up to her ear, she activated her comm link. "O, I'm in the generator room."

" _Excellent. Is everything in working order?"_

"Looks like. I don't see—"

That was when she heard another sound, only this time it was in the room. Bluebird cut herself off as she stared right at the generator, her hand quickly returning to her gun. She could hear Oracle demanding, " _What is it? Is something wrong?"_ She ignored her, though. There was no mistaking it, someone or something was in the room.

She was proven right a moment later. Slowly, a young man wearing a dark uniform emerged from behind the generator, possibly a maintenance worker. He looked as if he were wearing a jumpsuit, one that was black, or a very dark blue—the lighting made it hard to distinguish between the two.

However, in his hand was a metal rod, possibly a crowbar, and he was gripping it tightly with both hands. He had this wild look in his eyes, one that set the vigilante's teeth on edge.

That was when another, older man appeared, dressed in the same jumpsuit, but with a metal chain in hand. He joined his friend in front of the generator, standing between it and her. That made for a big problem.

As good as she was with her taser gun, if she missed and hit the generated on accident, she could destroy it. That was not what she was here to do.

There was a sound behind her and Bluebird snapped her head around. There were a couple more maintenance people entering the room through the door.

 _Oh shit._

She had no idea where these people came from, but clearly she had missed them while exploring this place. She was effectively surrounded by these very threatening workers.

Spinning around to fully face the newcomers, Bluebird fired her taser gun, hitting the first man to enter the room. The electrical blast shocked him, causing him to scream as the other men yelped in surprise—and a tiny bit of terror if her ears weren't mistaken. Quickly, switching targets, she fired again and tased the second man, the man cringing before dropping to the floor.

The blue-haired girl then turned around and promptly held her stun gun horizontally in front of her and raised it up, the crowbar-wielding man having snuck up on her and was swinging his metal bar. It hit her gun along its body, Bluebird feeling the force of the blow travel down her arms.

Undeterred, the man pulled the bar back and swung it back down on her, hitting her gun again. Over and over, he did the same thing, always hitting her taser gun. The young vigilante gritted her teeth, but always made sure her rifle took the brunt of the hitting.

That was when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. By the time she had glanced towards it, the end of a chain smacked her against her check, causing her head to jerk to a side and her legs to lose her balance. She stumbled a step and then felt the metal bar hit her weapon again. Because of her lost balance, she collapsed to the floor, one hand shooting down so that she could prop herself up.

Instinctively, Bluebird turned her gun and aimed it at the maintenance worker, ready to fire it. Though he was practically on top of her, she caught sight of the generator still behind him and she froze.

That proved costly as the man then swing his weapon from side to side, the metal bar knocking the barrel of her stun gun to a side. Because she only had one hand hold it, the force of the hit knocked it clean out of her grasp, sending it scattering across the floor.

 _Shit!_ her mind screamed. There was an almost feral look on the man's face as he raised his metal bar over his head, ready to slam it down on her.

Immediately, Bluebird moved the arm she was using to hold herself up, causing her to drop her back to the floor. Bringing her legs up, her knees practically touching her chest, she then lashed out with them, her feet slamming into the kneecaps of her attacker. The man screamed out wildly as he immediately dropped his arms—though not his weapon—moving them to grasp at his knees. Due to the pain, he ended up falling forward, landing on his hurt knees and crying out again.

In the meantime, Bluebird had drawn her legs back to her chest again and then kicked back out. This time her feet slammed right into the man's face. The force of her kick knocked the man backwards, where he landed on his back, his legs twisted at awkward angles. More importantly, he didn't try moving.

That was when she caught sight of the last man, this time off to her right. Jerking her head to him, she saw the man swinging his chain up into the air and down towards her. Yelping, Bluebird flung her legs up and her feet over her head, going into a roll. The chain hit the floor with a loud _clang!_ right where she had been lying. She felt the strain of her movement especially on her shoulders, neck, and head, but it vanished when she found herself on her feet, keeping herself crouched.

That was when her attacker swung the chain up off the floor and towards her, an instinctive sideswipe. Shooting her arms up, she felt the chain hit her forearms, ignoring the pain from the metal chainlinks digging into her skin through her costume. Instead, she moved her hands to grab onto the chain even as she shot up to stand at her full height.

Okay, so far so good. Now she was in a bit of a pickle. While she had this guy's main weapon caught, she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do with it. Should she try and pull it out of the man's hands? Or should she try and close the distance between her and the man so she could attempt to knock him out? A part of her thought if Batman were in her shoes, he'd try swinging the guy until he hit the wall.

Hey, that wasn't that bad of an idea actually.

Pulling hard on the chair, she tried to cause the man to start moving to her left. Key word being tried. The guy held his ground, his feet digging in as he leaned backwards, resisting her tugging.

Okay, that wasn't working. What was her Plan B?

Before she could come up with one, the man then yanked hard on the chair, causing her to stumble forward. He kept pulling as hard as he could, which continued to force Bluebird to close the distance between them.

Alright, forget making a plan, she had to do something before she ran out of time. Deciding that she was going forward no matter what, she purposefully began running, then jumped off the ground, leaning backwards as she extended her legs out.

While she was attempting to dropkick the guy, it turned out she was a little too far to land the kick to his chest. That didn't mean she didn't hit him, she just him him...lower. In fact, her feet rammed right into the man's groin, causing his legs to buckle even as he bent over, hands shooting down to cover his junk.

Landing on her back on the floor, Bluebird immediately shot her upper body up, letting go of the chain so that she could reach up and grab onto the man's shirt. Pulling hard as she could, she pulled the man down, even as she shied her body to a side. That was so her foe would crash face first on the floor, immediately going limp and collapsing partially on top of her.

For a moment, Bluebird laid there, waiting to see if her impromptu move had worked. Feeling that the guy slumped against her wasn't moving, she then pushed him off of her and rolled onto her front so that she could push herself up onto her feet. Activating her comm link, she then said, "Oracle, I've got control of the backup generator."

* * *

Black Canary held her fists before her, making sure to keep her defense up at all times. In front of her, Ollie held himself in a boxer's stance, hypnotically bouncing from one foot to the other.

Ever since she had found him, he had been attacking her. She had done her best to stay on the defensive and talk him out, but her words had fallen on deaf ears. This whole time he had been pushing her around and she had been allowing him to so that she didn't hurt him.

It was getting old real fast.

Something was wrong, that much she was sure of. Ollie knew her on sight and sometimes without needing even that. Right now, he clearly didn't recognize her. It was almost as if he were seeing something else, a hallucination maybe.

If that were the case, then he must have come across the Phantasm and was gassed. So his present condition wasn't his fault. Regardless, if she allowed him to do what he wanted, she was going to be black and blue and sore in the morning. She was not in the mood for that kind of play.

It was time to take off the kid gloves.

Edging towards her, Green Arrow sent a jab for her face, one she blocked and slapped away, not willing to counter just yet. Undeterred, the blond man jabbed again with the same fist, getting the same response. He waited another moment before he jabbed yet again.

However, the moment she knocked the punch aside, his other fist was flying for the side of her face. Immediately, she blocked the blow with a forearm, the hand of her other arm pressed up against her forearm to help brace it. She was unable to hold back the grunt that slipped through her lips from the power behind it.

Ollie withdrew, backing off a step even as he continued to bounce, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back. It wasn't a fighting style she was familiar with him using since he preferred to use a similar style to her own—that style featuring quick strikes that took down an opponent fast and efficiently. This stunt—for lack of a better word—was throwing her off.

"Alright, you freaky son of a bitch, let's see how you handle this," Green Arrow muttered aloud.

 _Oh, tell me how you really feel, Ollie._

He then darted towards her, throwing his right fist for her face, one that she blocked as well. He quickly followed up with his left, this one also flying towards her head. The moment she blocked that one, he changed tactics, bringing his right low and swinging it upwards, aiming to land an uppercut to her abdomen.

With her left, Black Canary shot it across her body so that she could knock it aide. The moment she succeeded in this, she sliced with the same hand, landing a chop to Green Arrow's throat, one that caused him to choke as he flinched back a step. As he began to raise a hand to grab at his injured throat, Canary was already throwing a fist, one that nailed him in the face and sent him stumbling back a couple of steps.

Letting out a war cry, the blonde vigilante then leaped into the air, swinging her left leg to deliver a kick to his head. Unfortunately, the green-clad archer jerked his upper body back, causing it to lean backwards as he avoided her kick, her foot sailing through the air over him harmlessly. By the time she landed back on the floor, he had recovered his breath and was swinging another fist, this time successfully slamming it into her face.

It was Canary's turn to stumble backwards, her face wincing from the blow. However, she never took her sights off her wayward lover, though thankfully he hadn't followed up on his attack, instead opting to hold his hands before him, tossing the boxer stance aside as he took on a more wary pose.

This had some positives and some negatives. In the positive category, Green Arrow's change in stance meant he wasn't going to try and flatten her out the first chance he got. In the negatives, he also wasn't going to be attacking her first and opening himself to counterattacks. Very likely, he was going to let her start things off.

"Arrow, listen to me," she said, trying to reason with him. "You're under Phantasm's fear gas. You've got to see through it. Don't let it take over."

"Snarl all you want, buddy," the archer replied. "That isn't going to change anything."

Black Canary's eye twitched. So he couldn't understand her either—how bothersome. Maybe beating some sense into him _was_ the way to go.

Taking off into a spring, Canary closed the distance between them before she threw herself into a front flip, reaching her hands above her head to press down on the floor as her feet were flung up above her. As she pushed off the floor, she swung her feet down, aiming to hit the top of Green Arrow's head with her heel.

Instead he backed up a step, allowing her feet to pass right in front of him and land on the ground. As her upper body flew back up, Canary was throwing a fist, adding her momentum into her blow. Arrow blocked the punch, grunting as he did so. Immediately, the blonde vigilante was throwing another punch even as she drew her blocked fist back. Over and over, she swung punches at the green-clad man, pulling back her previously thrown fist as she threw the other.

Each and every one, Ollie blocked, allowing her to wail on him. However, he was slowly spreading his legs apart to better balance himself. Canary was mindful of this even as her arms moved liked pistons. As she was once more blocked, she suddenly swung a leg up, delivering a kick right to Ollie's groin.

His reaction was instant as both of his hands shot down to grab his man parts. A choked gasp came out of his mouth as his eyes bulged out of his head.

Even as she drew her leg back to the floor, Canary was quick to throw an uppercut, one that landed beneath his chin, causing his head to snap backwards. The force of her blow sent Ollie flying off his feet, the blond man falling to the floor where he landed on his back.

Unfortunately, Ollie didn't stay down. For a moment, it looked as if he would. Despite the pain he had to be feeling in his junk, his legs suddenly swung up, bending at the knees until they nearly reached his chest. His hands moved upwards until his palms were pressed on the floor on either side of his head.

He then sprung off the floor, using his hands to push him up into the air even as he kicked out with his feet. Said feet rammed right into Canary's chest, the force of the hit knocking the wind out of her lungs and sent her careening backwards through the air. She barely got her feet back on the floor, where she skidded across the tile flooring until she came to a stop.

Had this been any other time, Canary was sure Arrow would have followed up with a brutal one-two combo. However, the way he was standing gingerly, it seemed the nut shot had caused him to hesitate.

That was fine by her. Ideally, her next move needed to end this little spat of theirs. The problem was that Green Arrow was a pretty good fighter and landing the knockout blow was damn hard to do. There was always the Canary Cry, but its effect on the hospital and its computer systems were a big risk. While she had used a blunted cry earlier, that didn't have the frequency to cause glass to shatter. She was either going to have to chance it, or hope Ollie made a very poor decision at some point.

Staring down the hallway, Black Canary could make out a nurse's station where the corridor ended. Seeing as the hall made a sharp turn where she stood, she eyed the hall going to her right and saw more patient rooms.

She picked up movement then, causing the blonde vigilante to return her attention back to Arrow. He was on the move, edging towards her, but keeping an even pace as he approached her. Immediately, Black Canary darted to her right, turning so that her back faced the corridor behind her and so that she could keep her opponent in front.

"I'm not going to let you hurt anyone, so there's no use in you running away," Green Arrow warned her as he kept up his pace, shrinking the amount of floor between them.

That gave Canary pause. Though she suspected her boyfriend here was under the influence of a fear toxin, she would have thought he'd be paralyzed by fear. When she had been exposed, she had been fighting to protect herself, her mind muddled with terror. The way Green Arrow move, it was more like when Batman was under its thrall—somewhat. Batman had lashed out whereas the archer was keeping himself in reserve. Regardless, she was certain his fear of harm coming to others was powering him right now and he was not one to let fear keep him down.

And then he swung at her, again with a punch to the face. Canary backed away, dodging the blow even as she stepped back again to avoid the oncoming second punch. She was expecting a third punch, but Ollie surprised her when he jumped into the air, swinging a kick at her.

Immediately, the blonde woman dove to the floor, going into a roll beneath the Emerald Archer. She ended up back on her feet about the same time Ollie touched down, though it was clear they both had their backs to each other.

It was now or never.

Spinning around, Black Canary sucked in a deep breath of air, her eyes catching sight of Green Arrow twisting around as well, throwing a low uppercut as he turned. The moment she set her feet, she screamed.

The high-pitched Canary Cry blasted Green Arrow point blank, the blond man's hands instantly shooting up to clamp down on his ears, his face frozen into a mask of pain. Canary kept up her cry, making sure he was paralyzed where he stood.

Then she ended it abruptly, the vigilante ignoring the cracks in the sheetrock around her as the walls proved they hadn't handled the Canary Cry all that well. Ollie stumped back a step, still keeping his hands pressed to the sides of his skull.

In the blink of an eye, Black Canary dropped down as she extended a leg to one side, swinging it across her body as she swept Olli's legs out from under him. The blond man fell to the floor where he landed on his back. Pouncing, Canary sprung towards him, landing with one knee embedding itself in his stomach as her other leg helped braced her by touching down next to his body. With one fist drawn back, she then threw it down for his face.

Only for Green Arrow to shoot a hand up and catch it, his fingers wrapping around her wrist, stopping her punch cold. "STOP!" he shouted.

Canary had her other fist raised up, but she held it, her blue eyes penetrating as she stared at the man. "Just stop!" he repeated, his tone way too loud. "I don't need you beating me anymore, Pretty Bird!"

A corner of her mouth twitched up. "Finally came to your senses?"

"What!"

"I said—"

That's when she stopped. Without a doubt, Ollie's ears were ringing, so he probably couldn't hear her. That explained why he was shouting. Lowering her fist, she came to the decision that she needed to pull the lovable lug beneath her out of here. It was too dangerous for him to have one of his major senses out of whack.

"I'm getting you out of here!" she yelled at him, moving her free hand to grab hold of Green Arrow's shoulder, an attempt to help him up.

"What!"

* * *

A call from Gotham Mercy was what brought them here tonight. One of the officers guarding the Batman wannabe had managed to send in a call over the radio that someone had attacked him and his fellow officers.

Off the GCPD went, and for once it was SWAT that arrived first. Petit had been near dispatch when the report came in and he was already assembling as many men as he could to get over to Mercy. While he could care less about someone going after Hugo Strange, this was Gotham and it was the job of the police to uphold the law.

And the law was the law, no matter how much you had to bend it to get it to work.

"Alright boys, our job's to secure the hospital. Anyone who doesn't belong here, you take down," Petit ordered, dressed in body armor and black-colored SWAT gear, same as the others. "We don't have any description of the perp, so keep your eyes peeled. Also, there are civvies in there, so be careful where you shoot. Do so if someone comes at you, or you think is a threat. Remember, don't do anything stupid and let's show everyone why we're the guys they should count on."

There were a few "damn straights," and "you're goddamn rights," but now was not the time to jerk each other off. They were on duty and had a job to do. The rest of the boys in blue were showing up anyway, the blue and red flashing lights lighting up the area. Already, a perimeter was before formed, and Petit had to give them credit where it was due. They were being efficient with it.

"We're going in; we'll let the brass sort everything out later," he told his men as he began leading the way to the hospital's emergency room. He began to pick up speed, turning his pace from a walk to a jog. Time was of the essence here, and there was no telling if the perpetrator had done what they had come here to do.

He had been expecting for the doors to open, since emergency rooms always had automatic doors. Petit was both surprised and frustrated when they remained closed. Looked like someone wasn't doing their job, or the doors had been sabotaged before.

Giving a swear, he ordered, "Shoot the damn thing open." There should be some kind of emergency push button somewhere, but he was in too much of a rush to look for it. Raising his gun, he fired at the door, shattering the glass and making an entrance for the team to get in. A couple teammates stood beside him and helped out, the rest holding their fire just in case.

"Alright, move, move!" Petit commanded, his words becoming action as he charged in.

* * *

Red Hood was nobody's bitch. He gave as good as he got. While he had taken his fair share of asskickings, no one could say he was all talk.

However, none of the assholes he dealt with on a daily basis wore fucking needles as fingers.

So he ran. He had spun around and sprinted down the hallway, that Scarecrow guy running after him. "Flee all you want, you can't escape fear!" he had shouted after the running boy.

Darting around the corner and into a new hallway, Red Hood pumped his arms at his sides as his feet pounded the floor. He chanced a look over his shoulder and saw the needle guy making the same turn; however, there was a noticeable gap growing between them.

The hallway opened up into a larger area, a wide open, empty nurse's station filling up most of the place. Spotting a few clipboards sitting on a counter, Red Hood headed right for them, skidding to a stop as he grabbed one. Spinning around, he then threw the clipboard, sending it spinning like a frisbee at Scarecrow.

Incredibly, the guy was hit by the clipboard, even though he had raised his arms up to block it. The clipboard bounced off his forearms. Fortunately, he skidded to a stop several feet away.

Immediately, Red Hood snatched up another clipboard and chucked it at Scarecrow, not bothering to see if he hit the guy as he picked up another clipboard and another. Each one he threw was spinning around, hitting Scarecrow, one even managing to get him in the head. "Will you stop that!" he demanded.

By then, all the clipboards had been thrown. Yet, Red Hood wasn't done. Seeing a telephone stand, he grabbed it with both hands and yanked it up, the phone jack ripping out of the stand. He then chunked it at Scarecrow, who tried to jump backwards instead of to a side, the stand and telephone hitting him right against his thigh due to the thin man twisting his body in a weak attempt to dodge.

That's when Red Hood caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. There was a small alcove across from the nurse's desk with a cart on wheels in it. There looked like a tackle box and a defibrillator on top of it. Darting to it, Red Hood pulled it out of the alcove and into the hallway. Putting it between him and Scarecrow, he then began running towards the burlap nightmare, pushing the cart in front of him.

He and the cart plowed right into Scarecrow, practically running the guy over. Had the nut job not grabbed onto the cart, he would have been. Instead, his feet slid across the floor as he pushed back down the hallway they had run down until Red Hood rammed him into the wall at the end of it.

"Ahhhh!" the freak cried out, the young man grinning eagerly as he continued to press the cart against him. Oh yeah, he was on top now.

That was when Scarecrow took a swipe with him with his needles and Red Hood instinctively yelped as he jumped to avoid it. Scarecrow then pushed the cart off of him, causing it to roll right into the young man. Scowling, he then shoved it back, the cart running right back into the thin guy, the contents inside of it rattling.

"Will you cut that out?!" Scarecrow demanded as he forced the cart back off of him.

This time, Red Hood shot around it, allowing the cart to roll down the hallway until he ran into a wall. It had just occurred to him that he did indeed know how to throw a punch. Why he was letting this needle guy scare him, he didn't know considering he was literally getting pushed around like a bitch. Besides, Nightwing had been teaching him to fight.

Now, had it been before he became Red Hood, he would've thrown a punch at this jackass' face. Instead he put himself right in front of the guy, which caused Scarecrow to try stabbing him with his needles again. Now, Red Hood would never admit it, but his mind was screaming at the approaching needles. He wasn't even sure what he was about to do would work. Shooting an arm up, his forearm hit Scarecrow's extended arm, blocking him and his needles from reaching him. In a split-second, he threw a punch, one that nailed Scarecrow in the face, causing him to cry out as he stumbled backwards.

Now that's what he was talking about!

It seemed there was a point to all of those fighting sessions with Nightwing. Though that guy was an ass, he had been trying to teach him how to fight smart instead of just fight. Maybe he owed him a thank-you card or something.

In the meantime, he had a punkass to kick the shit out of.

Approaching Scarecrow again, he waited for the guy to try and stab him again. Like he expected, the thin guy did and again he blocked it. With a shark-like grin, he then nailed the sucker in his stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs as he bent over from the blow. Moving his fist, he unclenched it so that he could grab onto the back of Scarecrow's head. With a jerk of his leg, he then rammed his knee into the guy's face.

The blow caused Scarecrow to stumble backwards, one hand grabbing onto his face. Unable to resist, Red Hood pressed his advantage, jabbing over and over, each punch nailing the punk in the burlap in his head, causing it to snap back. When Scarecrow whipped his head back, his face was greeted with another punch.

And then he jumped backwards, avoiding a punch at long last. "Stay where you are!" the man shouted as he suddenly held out a small canister in his hand. Red Hood merely raised an eyebrow at it.

"And what's that supposed to do?" he taunted.

"Watch and breath in the fumes." Scarecrow then threw the canister at his feet, where it exploded into a cloud of gas. Eyes widening, Red Hood darted backwards, staying away from the gas as best he could. He could barely make out Scarecrow's silhouette through the cloud, but its dark figure receded until he disappeared completely.

"Get back here, ya pansy!" Red Hood shouted, though he knew the guy was going to hide somewhere. Had the guy not encourage him to breath in whatever the cloud was, he would've charged after him. Instead, he was doing the prudent thing in not chancing it.

"Freeze!"

Red Hood jerked his head to a side, his jaw dropping. A short distance away was what looked like a squad of SWAT guys, each one aiming an assault rifle at him, lazers bearming from the barrels as small red dots danced all over him.

"Hands in the air! Now!" one of the officers barked.

Immediately, his hands shot up. _Oh shit._

* * *

Her heart was still hammering, even after seeing that the big danger was out of the room. It didn't stop Spoiler from going over to the broken window and looking out of it. The dim lighting of the street lamps lit the place up, but not enough to see where Katana and that Phantasm guy had gone.

Wait, there were what looked like flashes. Narrowing her yes, she managed to pick up the sight of light flashing off of metal. That's where the two were and goddamn, were the two of them literally fighting on the side of the building?

That was freaking awesome!

But then they had to ruin it by going around a corner and blocking what must be _the_ fight of this whole night and she was tempted to climb out that window and follow. You know, because she wanted to see how it would all end. But there was that Strange guy who needed protecting and he was the reason they were here in the first place.

Since Katana was handling the Phantasm and everyone else was handling...everyone else, Spoiler figured this would be the best place to wait until it was all over. And she was keeping watch over Strange just in case the Phantasm made a return and all.

Taking a good look at the comatose man, she found it hard to believe that just last night, this guy had tried to kill all of them. Now look where he was. He was not going to be doing anything anytime soon.

The minutes dragged on, and Spoiler waited impatiently for any word or sign that everything was alright. She even contacted Oracle who told her to stay right where she was and to guard Strange with her life.

So she did, growing bored after a while. Still, better than trying to fight off a bunch of people who looked like they were on a bad trip. Yeah, this was definitely better than trying to beat up a bunch of people who probably didn't know that they were attacking the good guys.

After who knew how long had passed, the young, kickass vigilante heard what sounded like a bunch of footsteps. Was that everyone else finally showing up? It was about time too. She didn't know how long she could take just standing here and watching some bald guy sleep the night away.

"FREEZE! PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!" a voice roared at her. It happened just as a bunch of SWAT guys appeared in the doorway and holy shit, those were some real, heavy-duty guns they were holding!

Naturally, Spoiler did as told and froze. That didn't seem to make the person yelling at her happy, for some reason.

"Get down on the floor and put your hands on your head!" the yelling man, uh, yelled at her, never turning the barrel of his gun away from her. Neither did the other guys who weren't yelling at her, but weren't friendly either.

What to do in this situation? She didn't know! They hadn't covered this in their how to be a vigilante classes! What did you do when the cops had you cornered and there was no way to get out, other than the window? Wait, the window! But could she get to it in time?

Suddenly, the distance between her and her way to freedom seemed so far away.

Alright, maybe she could throw a birdarang and—

"I said get down the floor with your hands on your head, or we will shoot!" the yelling guy barked again.

Just hearing that took what fight she still had left in her. Without another word, Spoiler raised her hands over her head and knelt onto the floor.

* * *

Metal clashed with metal, a scythe-like blade clashing against short swords again and again. The Phantasm had fallen into blocking each slash, making no attempt to go onto the offensive. With the ledge being so thin, it restricted what kinds of attacks could be made. With their sides nearly pressed against the side of the building, only the arms that were opposite to the wall were free to strike out.

Fortunately for the masked killer, its left shoulder was pressed against the vertical surface, its weaponized right hand free to block without restriction. The same could not be said of the sword-wielding vigilante. While she was able to wield her weapons with both hands, thanks to the wall she was only free to use one to its full extent. It also helped that one sword had been discarded some time ago.

That still didn't meant its opponent didn't try to use her ambidexterity when able, but the wraith had attempted to take advantage of the awkwardness and so the vigilante had become more conservative with her attacks. Right now, it was playing a waiting game. The vigilante would make a mistake eventually, and the Phantasm would take the opportunity; it was only a matter of time.

Whether it would use it to maim, or to kill, remained to be seen, but the killer was losing its patience with these obstacles. While it had no quarrel with any of the vigilante attempts to step up to replace the Batman, if they continued to interfere, it would have to reconsider any and all offers of mercy.

As the vigilante drew back, perhaps to reconsider her next strike, the costumed murderer happened to catch sight of flashing lights from below. A quick glance informed it that law enforcement had arrived at the hospital. Already, they were swarming the grounds and forming a perimeter.

It's chance at slaying Strange was effectively gone.

"There is no point in continuing," the Phantasm stated as it drew back, its bladed hand ready to block any more attacks.

"You are not leaving," the vigilante retorted.

Hearing the sounds of a police chopper drawing close, it knew that time was almost up. If its foe was too determined to capture it with no regard to their surroundings, that was not its problem.

"There will always be more opportunities," it replied as it began to surround itself will its smoke. It began to feel a spotlight from above fall over it, even as the vigilante attempted to stop its escape. It was too late for any of them to stop it.

As its vision was blocked by the smoke, it heard the words, "YOU WITH THE SWORDS! SURRENDER YOURSELF OR WE WILL SHOOT YOU!"

* * *

When the booming voice came from outside, the remaining members of the Network had taken that as a sign that it was time to get out of there. The cops were coming in heavy-handed and it would be best that they weren't anywhere around when they reached Strange.

Each had taken their own routes out of the hospital, sometimes grouping up with one another, and other times completely solo. Regardless of how they did it, they were currently on an adjacent building with a view of all the action on the streets.

With the helicopter flying around, that meant they had to keep to the shadows as best as they could. No sense risking their necks any further.

"Didn't think the cops would come rushing in like this," Nightwing commented after daring to get another look on all the action below.

"Looks like we're not the only ones upping our game," Huntress commented. "They look all business down there." Tearing her eyes away from the crowded streets, she turned towards the rest of them, focusing her attention on a certain pair of vigilantes. "How are you two holding up?"

"You're going to have to speak louder since I barely heard anything there," Green Arrow answered, his voice loud. He dried to dig a finger into his ear, as if that would help clear it up.

"I think I can sum it up best; we're both beat," Black Canary spoke up immediately. "Arrow here got a dose of fear toxin and I happened to get in the way."

"Like that riot?" Huntress asked immediately.

"Yeah, but with less clowns. At least I hope no one saw any clowns."

There was a story there, but Nightwing wasn't really concerned with it. There was one other piece of business that needed to be addressed. "Is Strange still alive? The Phantasm didn't get him, right?"

"I fought with him," Katana reported. "I did not seen any additional signs of injury on that man. Spoiler was there before I was."

Okay, everything sounded somewhat good, but he wanted some confirmation first. Now to hear from the younger girl.

"Where is Spoiler?" Red Robin asked, bringing their attention to something they hadn't anticipated yet.

Giving a quick look around, Bluebird added, "I don't see Red Hood anywhere either." Then under her breath, she added, "I thought it was quieter."

Okay, time for a quick headcount. There was himself, Red Robin, Bluebird, Huntress, Black Canary, a nearly deaf Green Arrow, and Manhunter. That was two heads too few. He did a second headcount, taking a little more time to see if he didn't overlook them.

No, they were two down. Where the hell were they?

"Aw crap," Red Robin said, his gaze on the street below. "We got a problem."

Quickly, Nightwing reached his former partner's side, Huntress and Manhunter joining him.

Even though there was a mess of cops down there, it was easy to spot the two costumed teens being dragged out of the hospital, especially Spoiler with all the pink that was a part of her outfit. Both of them were surrounded by SWAT and they were being led to what was a modern day version of a paddywagon.

This paddywagon was made of solid steel and had a light brown color to it. On one end was a thin door that was raised up and folded onto the roof of the vehicle, revealing a cavernous holding area that was gray in color. It was hard to see anything else from this angle, but the two captured vigilantes were being led into it.

"Oh, this is perfect," Manhunter grumbled.

"We're not going to leave them like this," Red Robin said, and Nightwing noticed a hint of apprehension in his voice.

"Like hell we are," Huntress agreed. "We can't let those kids fry for this."

"And how are we going to bust them out? That there's one of the latest models of prisoner transport," Manhunter retorted, gesturing to the metal behemoth below. "They just got that thing a few weeks ago and that thing's designed to handle a lot of shit, even RPGs. It's like a tank, but with fewer weaknesses."

"Oracle, you have a view of what's going on down there. Can you find anything out about that transport vehicle?" Nightwing asked into his earpiece.

" _I'll need a minute_ ," the hacker told him.

"While she does that, we need to get on the move," Huntress stated. "We need to be ready to get them out of them before they reach whatever precinct they're going to be taken to."


	31. Free The Prisoners

Nightwing's arms pumped at his sides as he ran. Nearing the edge of the roof, he leaped into the air, soaring over an alleyway until he landed on the building across the gap. Never once breaking stride, he kept running, glancing to his right and down to the street.

There was an armored truck, the latest in the GCPD's arsenal in transporting high priority arrests. In front and in back of the truck were squad cars, their red and blue lights flashing even though they were driving the speed limit. It was as if they were announcing to the entire city their recent arrest.

Right now, Spoiler and Red Hood were in that truck. While they had all been aware of the mayor declaring martial law, its impact was now hitting them. They were targets now, not just Bane, or street level criminals. Gotham had effectively declared what everyone already knew, but had been lax in upholding: the vigilantes were lawbreakers and they would be captured just like any of Bane's mercenaries, Ra's al Ghul's ninjas, and the Blackgate and Arkham escapees.

That issue could wait until there was a moment to reflect on it. Right now, the priority was to get Spoiler and Red Hood out of that truck before they reached whatever precinct they were heading for.

Speaking of, that was when Manhunter spoke up over the comm link. " _I can think of two precincts...this truck can go to. The main HQ is maybe a mile or two...from here while the West branch...is a straight shot from here. My money is on Main...since it's closer."_

Manhunter was saying all of that through the occasional gasp. The exertion of keeping up with the vehicles below was enough to wind the brunette vigilante. Thankfully, since the transport caravan was going the speed limit and obeying the traffic lights, the Network was able to keep up. Nightwing suspected Oracle had hacked into the traffic control center and was ensuring that each light the caravan reached was a red light.

While nice, the Network was still having to play this smart. Each one of the vigilantes was spread out of the city as they followed the caravan. That was so that if the transport took a turn, there would be another vigilante right there to pick up its new street. It also allowed them to basically surround the caravan from all sides, be it ahead or behind, to the left or right.

" _Then we need to plan how we're going to get those two out,"_ Huntress responded. " _We can't keep trailing them forever."_

Reaching the edge of the building he was on, Nightwing pulled out his grapple and fired up to the next building, one that was much higher than the one he ran across. He repelled up the structure, reaching the roof in a matter of seconds. Disengaging the grapple claw, he resumed his run.

Huntress was of course right. There was only so much longer any of them could keep this up. Adding to the fact they had all just come out of fighting a swarm of frightened hospital patients, they were already tired. They needed to slow these guys, if not stop them right there on the street.

" _Hey guys, I think I might have an idea,"_ Green Arrow said over the comm. " _Who's the furthest ahead?"_

* * *

 _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God._

That single phrase was on constant loop in Stephanie's head. Here she was, handcuffed inside of a police transport truck and on her way to be booked and thrown in jail. She, Ms. Popular, Ms. Beautiful Teen, Ms...whatever other goddamn title she had, and she was about to have a record.

 _Mom is_ so _gonna kill me._

That was the worst part. Her mom was going to find out that she had been sneaking out at night to dress up fabulously and beat up bad guys. Her father didn't even factor into the equation since he was always at work, though he would most definitely have something to say about his image taking a hit. It was always the ratings with him.

Still, at least she wasn't alone. To be locked up by herself and be freaking out would've driven her crazy. She was spared that because she hadn't been arrested by herself. Jason was right there with her, scowling as he sat on the opposite side of the truck, slumped against the wall behind him.

Okay, she would've preferred someone other than Jason at that moment since she didn't really get along with the guy. She tolerated him better than the others and he wasn't as harsh with her as he was Nightwing, so they had that going. Harper would've been so much better, though. Hell, she would've taken some time with Red Robin, at least he would've been coming up with a plan to get out of this mess.

But now she was stuck here with the new recruit and he seemed resigned to going to jail like it was another Tuesday night for him. Maybe it was for all she knew.

God this sucked sooooo much.

"This bites," Jason grunted, echoing her thoughts.

"Yeah," she agreed softly.

"I didn't sign up for this," he continued to grumble out loud. "This is complete bullshit."

Stephanie...no, she was Spoiler right now. Having the costume on meant she was Spoiler and not her popular alter-ego. _Spoiler_ didn't bother replying since it was clear the guy was venting. She could get that, but it was doing nothing for her nerves. After they got booked, she'd have a chance to make a phone call and she was not relishing the idea of waking up her mom and asking her if she knew a good lawyer.

"I mean, I get why you're here, but I shouldn't be."

 _Hold up, what's_ that _supposed to mean?_

Spoiler glared at Red Hood. "Uhh, what do you mean by that?"

Hood glanced at her. "Let's face it, you're not the best vigilante here. You're clumsy as hell and it was only a matter of time before you got caught."

Hey, she had been doing this almost as long as Bluebird and certainly longer than Red Hood here, the jerk. So she wasn't as proficient in hand-to-hand combat; none of the others were when they first started. They grew into it just like she was. She was miles ahead of this guy too.

"Well, if I'm so bad at this, what does that say about you," she retorted snidely.

That caused the jerk to glare at her. Ha, she struck a nerve. Served him right. "I'll have you know that I was kicking ass long before I ran into you clowns."

"Yeah, so you've told me...over and over…" she drawled as she adjusted herself on the bench she sat on. "And as me and Nightwing and Bluebird have proven, we're still better than you. I'll admit, you're picking up on this thing fast, but you need to tone down the attitude. It rubs people the wrong way."

"I didn't get into this to make friends, Blondie," he shot back heatedly. "Hell, we make enemies every time we stop a crime. That's how this thing is. Stopping to make sure everyone likes you is asinine. I don't have to be friends with the others. If they can't do the job, then they shouldn't be doing it."

Ugh, asshead. He barely had two months, maybe three, under his belt, but he was talking like he'd been doing this things for years. That just pissed her off.

"How about we both be quiet from here until we reach jail? That sound good?" she suggested sarcastically as she crossed her arms over her chest, absently doing the same with one leg moving to rest over the other. Well, at least she tried to cross her arms, but the handcuffs around her wrists kept them too close for the full effect. "Sounds great to me."

"Hey, don't give me that. You can't say you got into this because of some higher calling bullshit. Everyone of us likes hitting people even if it's just a little bit."

 _Oh, there's someone I want to hit right now,_ she groused in her head as she continued to glare with narrow eyes at the boy in front of her. "There's also something called professionalism," she said then. "It includes treating people with respect. Pretty sure you missed that lesson."

"Bitch," Red Hood grumbled to himself.

Thankfully, he went quiet though. Spoiler wasn't sure what she would've done had he kept going; the urge to punch him was growing stronger with every word he had said. That would've undermined her entire professionalism argument and no doubt be another charge added to her looming rap sheet.

Suddenly, there was a vibration, causing the truck to shake. Both of the vigilantes perked their heads up, glancing to the ceiling and turning their heads from side to side. "Did you feel that?" Red Hood asked.

She nodded. "Yeah. Any idea what it is?"

The shaking seemed to get worse before she felt the truck begin to slow down. "A flat tire?" the boy suggested. When the truck came to a stop, their bodies jerking since inertia wanted to keep them moving but found it couldn't. "Probably a flat if they're stopping."

Oh boy, stuck several more minutes with Red Hood. God must've hated her if he was going to force her to spend more time with the twerp. Time seemed to crawl by then, though thankfully her travel buddy seemed content in staying quiet. That was at least a little blessing.

Suddenly, she heard sounds coming from the door. Turning her head to look, she stared for awhile before she noticed the upper part of the door and part of the ceiling raise up. That was when Nightwing came into sight, holding up the upper portion of the door as he looked down on her and Red Hood. "Are you two ready to get out of here?" he asked them.

"Oh hell yes," she stated as she hopped up onto her feet.

"What took you so long?" Red Hood demanded as he stood up too, though slightly less eager as the pink-clad girl.

"Oh, we just wanted you both to sweat it out a little in here," Nightwing told him as he moved one hand to his belt before tossing a set of keys to the floor where they landed by Spoiler's feet. "Think of it as a lesson on why we don't want to get caught by the cops. Now get those handcuffs off. It's time we got out of here."

* * *

"What the hell happened here?!"

Petit was pissed. His anger only increased as he took in the scene before him. Multiple flat tires, with arrows—who uses those anyway?—sticking out of the back-trailing squad car and the transport. The squad car in the front also had some flats but right now, it was hard to tell what had caused those.

With both of the squad cars, the windshields were broken, and officers inside unconscious. Someone had found canisters inside, ones that the SWAT commander recognized as having some kind of off-brand knockout gas. Whoever attacked this small convoy had come in prepared.

Outside of flat tires, the transport didn't seem to have much damage to it, not unless you counted the arrows that were pinning the doors shut. There was still a haze in the cab, an obvious sign that the gas in there had yet to dissipate. Once they got the arrows out, they were going to have to let it air out first before they retrieved their boys.

Worst of all, the crooks being transported were gone, and when taking all the evidence together, the answer was obvious as to what had happened. Someone had attacked these officers for the sole purpose of getting those costume-wearing criminals.

Petit was willing to bet he knew who the attackers were—more of these so-called heroes, these law-breaking vigilantes. He wasn't surprised that there were a bunch of them coming out, trying to be like Batman and all. It wasn't the first time that had happened. Most didn't know what the hell they were doing, putting not only themselves, but everyone else around them in danger.

The ones responsible for this weren't any of those morons. Whoever they were, they knew what they were doing. They were organized and better equipped than any of the other wannabes on the street.

Until their brothers in blue came to, they wouldn't be getting any kind of answers, the kind that the GCPD was going to need. However, Petit, while pissed, felt something else in him.

Justification.

This here was an attack on the GCPD by another front—the vigilante front. The Commissioner may have turned a blind eye to the problem before, but here was real ammunition, the kind the cops that had come before, the ones that had wanted to do their jobs and arrest these vigilantes, had never really had.

With the state of the city and the war against Bane, Gordon would have to retaliate somehow. This could not, _would not_ , be ignored and swept under the rug.

Before this was over, Petit swore to himself that even if he had to do it himself, he was going to clean up the mess these vigilantes were making in his city. If he had to hunt them down one by one, he would do it.

All thanks for this gift could be laid at the feet of these criminals and who was he to refuse it?

* * *

"Well, that was definitely a close one. Let's not have to do this again," Green Arrow said as the Network gathered around in their Bat-bunker. With Spoiler and Red Hood freed, it was time to make themselves scarce and figure out what the hell had happened.

First thing was first, though.

"Let's get this out of the way; is Strange still alive?" Huntress took over, her eyes trained on Spoiler. Before the cops had come barging in, it was this young girl who was the last one to be near him.

"He was before I got arrested," Spoiler answered. "That heart machine was still beeping and everything and I didn't see any blood anywhere."

A feeling of relief spread over the group. There was the confirmation they needed, another success to notch on their proverbial belt. Despite all the challenges from Hugo Strange and his Monster Man, the Phantasm was now another enemy that they could say they had thwarted.

"Let's not get too far ahead. That guy's still out there and it's only a matter of time until he tries again," Red Robin pointed out, bringing the high mood down a little.

Taking this in stride, Huntress nodded her head. "We're going to need to figure something out about that. There's no way we can watch Strange twenty-four seven and go after Bane's Venom at the same time. Eventually, we're going to slip up and that's all that has to happen. We gotta find where the Phantasm hangs up his cloak and get him before he puts it back on."

"Any ideas on how we can do that?" Manhunter asked, leaning forward in her seat. "It's not like anyone here knows this guy's secret identity."

"Batman probably knew," Nightwing muttered to himself. It would be their luck if that was the case. A real shame that the big daddy of all vigilantes was missing.

"Got a question," Green Arrow spoke up. Continuing before anyone could give him a prompt, "Does a guy in burlap ring any bells to you guys?"

There were frowns all around. "Burlap?" Nightwing found himself asking.

"Back at the hospital, I ran into someone who wore a burlap sack over his head. Or, I think it was a burlap sack. Had stitching on it that made it look like a mask," the Emerald Archer explained. "He jabbed something into my neck and the next thing I know, I'm seeing monsters."

"Wait, you didn't see the Phantasm?" Black Canary half-asked, half-demanded. There was a frown on her face that expressed confusion.

"I was at the museum, so I know what that ghoul looks like," Green Arrow said. "The person that snuck up behind me didn't look a thing like that."

"Did he have, like, needles on his fingers?" Red Hood asked.

"Not sure, but I did get something in my neck," Green Arrow answered, rubbing a hand on the right side of his neck.

"Let me see," the blonde-haired vigilante ordered as she got out of her seat and made her way to the Star City native. Batting away the green-clad vigilante's hands, Black Canary took a look at the bearded man's neck. "There's track marks here."

"Were there four of them?" Red Hood pressed. The younger vigilante had a bit of urgency in his voice, the others were starting to pick up on it.

"What's so important about that?" Bluebird questioned.

"Yeah, there's four," Black Canary confirmed barely a heart beat later.

Huntress was narrowing her eyes. "You seem to know something about this."

"I ran into this guy back in the hospital too. Had what Arrow said over his head, some kind of sack with stitching on it," Red Hood explained. "He also had these...creepy needles on his fingers, kinda like Freddy Kruger, and yeah, he tried to stab me with them. I kicked his ass, but he got away just before the cops showed up."

This wasn't really making any since, at least to Nightwing it didn't. It just sounded too weird, but hey, since this was Gotham, weird was kinda the normal. Was this someone new?

"Did he say anything? Give a name? Anything?" Manhunter questioned, fishing for additional intel.

"He called himself a doctor, though I don't think he was one. He was probably making a joke because we were in a hospital. Um, it began with an S. Like Scar…Scare...I wasn't really paying too much attention because those needles were freaking long, you know?" By then, Red Hood was babbling.

"Real boat load of help that is," Bluebird quipped.

"Like you had it any tougher!" Red Hood retorted.

"Hey Oracle, you make out anything from what Hood said?" Red Robin interrupted, thankfully, to get everything back on track.

" _From the bits and pieces, yes,_ " Oracle replied. " _And I have something. Tell me, Hood, does Scarecrow ring a bell?_ "

Red Hood took a moment before answering, "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds about right."

" _Then I found something. Real name is Jonathan Crane, and hey, he really is a doctor. He used to work at Gotham University in the Psychology Department, and get this, his area of expertise is fear."_

"I can guess where this is going," Green Arrow commented with a grimace.

" _According to these records, he was kicked out of the University for ethical violations, in particular how he treated his research participants. He exposed them to a substance he invented that was suppose to bring out their deepest fears and he got more than just that._ "

"Don't tell me, this Crane guy invented the fear toxin that the Phantasm uses," Nightwing said.

"Oh Christ," someone moaned, but it was hard to tell who.

" _He was fired soon after, and then after that he was arrested years ago trying to break into the now closed down Phizer plant just out of town. He was wearing this outfit that makes you think he fell on hard times, but instead of going to prison, he was sent to Arkham._ "

"And got out when the Joker let everyone loose," Huntress finished. "What are the odds that Crane ran into the Phantasm soon after. If that murderer had run out of fear toxin, going to the guy who knows how to make it would be on the top of their list. Is there anything else you can tell us about Crane?"

" _Make sure you're all sitting for this next part. When he was getting his Ph.D., guess who his mentor was."_ Oracle didn't even wait for anyone to answer her. _"Hugo Strange._ "

"Oh, wow," Nightwing found himself remarking. He didn't think he had been expecting that. But wait… "Wasn't Strange working at Arkham? Like, when Crane got arrested?"

" _He was Crane's damn therapist. What are the odds it was from Strange that the False Face Society got their hands on that fear toxin?_ "

"That's a lovely trip down memory lane, but how does any of this help us?" Huntress asked aloud. "Isn't that fear toxin suppose to be something you breath in? From what Green Arrow said, he was injected with something just like the fear toxin."

"Maybe he's made a new kind?" Spoiler suggested.

"Whether it's new or not, it works," Green Arrow stated. "That is nothing I want to go through again. Though...there are a few people I know who definitely deserve a dose of it."

"If the Phantasm and Crane are working together, then that means Crane must be making more of his fear toxin, so…" Here, Nightwing trailed off. He was on the verge of something, but the information overload here was getting to him.

"He has to have a way to get its ingredients," Black Canary finished for him. "Oracle, can you pull up the formula for this toxin and everything that goes into making it? Cross check that with any shipments coming into Gotham, or any of it that's been stolen in the last few months. If we can find a trail, it'll at least lead us to Crane, and with enough pressure maybe we can get him to give up his partner-in-crime."

"That definitely sounds like a plan," Huntress seconded. "Anybody have a better idea?"

"What about Bane?" Red Hood asked, once again filling his role as a broken record.

"I don't think the plan with him has changed; we keep looking for his Venom, and don't argue with me about it," Huntress stated while tacking on a warning. She even gave the younger male a hard look, challenging him to press his luck. Maybe because it was the events of the night, or he was finally taking a hint, but Red Hood said nothing.

It was still easy to tell that the guy didn't like that answer.

"How long will it be until you find out what we need to know?" Red Robin prompted their resident computer hacker.

" _I'll need a couple hours to make sure. In the meantime, you guys can either try to lay low, or go out and see if you can finally find a Venom cache. It's all up to you,_ " Oracle responded.

Personally, Nightwing felt that maybe they should call it a night early, what with fighting off a hospital full of fear-poisoned people and then taking out a police convoy. The cops more than likely were not going to be happy about any of that.

But like Red Hood kept pointing out, Bane was still out there and they did need to find a way to hurt him. This night was starting to look a lot longer than it already felt.

Yet, this is what they were going to have to do if they were to save their city.

* * *

The transport truck Spoiler and Red Hood are in is based off of the one from Batman: The Animated Series. Perhaps a good example of it is the episode _Zatanna_ , when Batman breaks Zatanna out of police custody after she was accused of robbing a bank during one of her shows.

To Guest: Thanks! As for Jason's needle fear, that was AV's attempt to develop some of Jason's character. I don't believe he has that fear in the comics.


	32. Deals With The Devil

The Commissioner really wanted to disbelieve what he had just heard. However, the numerous reports that sat on his desk, all of which had come at a fairly fast clip, just added support to the claim.

He could see that Petit was angry about it. Gordon admitted to himself that he wasn't happy about it either. He also couldn't help but feel a little impressed. That aside, there was a bigger issue here and it needed to be addressed.

According to these reports, there was a group of vigilantes in the city. It wasn't that he was unaware of them, but this was perhaps the first time any of them going by the descriptions in the reports were placed right in front of him. He didn't recognize any of them, at all.

More importantly, these vigilantes were able to not only show up his officers, but also break out a couple of their own who had been apprehended at Gotham Mercy. This could not be ignored, especially when their enemies were looking for any signs of weakness. It revealed that this group was better organized than some of the other would-be mobs that they had been taking down.

"We need to take these guys down, Commissioner," Petit was telling him, bringing the glasses-wearing man out of his thoughts. "We can't let them think they can get away with this."

Gordon leaned forward in his seat, his elbows propped on his desk with his hands clasped together in front of his face. "Do you know where these vigilantes are?"

The angry look that the SWAT commander wore on his face twitched, expressing frustration. "As of right now, no."

"Do you know how we can find them?" Gordon continued, not relenting.

Petit took a moment before answering, "Not yet."

"But do you have any ideas how we're going to find and take them down," he pressed.

Petit's visible frustration only grew. "No, Sir."

"Based on everything I've heard, it sounds like we have a group of vigilantes trying to fill the place that Batman left behind," Gordon stated. "We were never successful at arresting him. We never found out where he lived, never came up with a way to find him, and never were able to come up with any viable ideas on how to do any of the previously mentioned. Right now, I can't afford to divert any resources, or manpower into tracking these new players down."

"So what are we going to do?" Petit demanded from where he stood, again refusing to take a seat. The mustached man's arms were behind his back and that was probably the only reason he wasn't slamming his hands down on the Commissioner's desk. "Are we going to do that bullshit where we arrest on sight?"

"Isn't that how you managed to arrest the two you did?" Gordon pointed out. "Bill, I don't want to argue with you. I agree, we do not need these vigilantes out on the streets, especially now. Bane would chew them up and spit them out, and it is for their safety that I want them off. They may be breaking the law, but as far as we know, they are citizens too. So, for their protection, I will expand that old standing order to include these new guys. You managed to do it once before, and I have faith that given enough time, we'll do it again. None of them are of the Batman's caliber; we will get them.

"Until then, I need the rest of the reports on what the hell happened at Gotham Mercy. I need toxicology reports to find out why many of the people we detained looked like they all are having a bad trip courtesy of LSD. I'm trying to get my hands on what little security footage there is and having that analyzed. Maybe that will help us find out a little more on these newbies. In the meantime, you did a good job tonight, Bill. You and the rest of SWAT. Let's try to keep this momentum going."

Petit looked like he wanted to say something else, and Gordon was expecting it. It was what past anti-vigilante cops did, always needing to leave with the last word. Petit, however, nodded and took his leave. Hmm, perhaps the use of his first name had helped out there.

Regardless, Gordon was not pleased by any of this. By all accounts, the two vigilantes arrested were kids. Children, for Christ's sake. Where the hell did they find this equipment, some forgotten cache of Batman's? They needed to be off the streets and they needed to be off of them _now_. Before they did something stupid and went after Bane.

And while he was thinking about it, whatever else was infecting this city. This new group weren't the only vigilantes he was worrying about. There were also the sightings of another person dressing as Batman, but identified as the Joker. Like how he always was, no one knew where that madman was hiding out too. All that was left in his wake was destruction, but so far no deaths. That was a miracle in and of itself, but it didn't let him sleep any easier at night.

Pulling his hands apart, he placed his face into them, ignoring how his glasses were pressed against his eye sockets. No wonder he was full gray; all this stress was really getting to him and the exhaustion was making it so much harder to concentrate.

But there was no time or rest for the righteous. They needed to get on top of this situation and soon.

"Am I interrupting anything, Commissioner?"

A not very familiar voice, and it took him a second to recognized it. Lifting his head from his hands, he said, "Is there anything I can do for you, Lieutenant?"

Sawyer was in the doorway, half in and half out of the office. If she had any concern, she hid it well, Standing straighter, she reported, "I'm here to tell you that we completed the bust over on Clinton. That tip was right on the money."

Well, at least something was going their way.

"Carry on then, Lieutenant," the Commissioner told her.

Giving a nod, the transplant from Metropolis left. At least she had given him some good news out of all of this. Those tips were really helping them out; it was a shame no one knew who was calling.

That caused a frown to form on his face. It was very convenient that these calls were coming in and at a time when they really needed to make some headway against Bane. While he appreciated the help, it made him wonder.

For instance, how did this person know what a weapons dump was? More importantly, how was he or she able to give such precise information on the locations? The first raid had been at a storage facility with doors that had key and locks on them. Those hallways were only large enough to allow people to store large pieces of furniture, but even then you wouldn't be able to hide if you noticed people going into a specific storage unit and leaving with some serious firepower.

How did this person not get spotted and killed?

Why not keep quiet? If any of Bane's men had spotted someone there, and by some miracle not killed them, they would have gotten a good look at the tipster. After the first bust, you would think that those mercenaries would be thinking about anyone who happened to spot them.

There was way too much risk involved for a single person to give two anonymous tips about two different weapon dumps.

Now that he thought about it, there were only two reasons why anyone would call to leave a tip. The first, and most preferred, was that it was a good Samaritan just wanting to help out. The other was that the individual somehow benefited from sending in the tip. Such benefits could included financial, or an elimination of the competition.

Now he needed to hear those actual calls. Call it a hunch, but he needed to be sure that whoever sent in the tip was indeed the same person.

* * *

It was almost like clockwork. You could nail it down almost to the minute when the call came in. Penguin's future business partner had a demand for weapons that needed to be met.

It was back at the Port Authority, but the diminutive former crime lord didn't mind. This time around, he figured that matters would go more his way.

"You have those contacts? The ones you bragged about?" Bane was certainly straight to business, not that Cobblepot minded.

"Do I look like the fellow who would drop somethin' as valuable as that? My good man, I can get you whate'er you want by tomorrow night," he answered. "I admit, I didn't expect for ya ta call so soon."

"Do not patronize me," the masked man retorted. "Your boasts better be correct, or you will learn that I do not tolerate empty claims."

"I am a man o' my word. I don't claim anythin' unless I can't back them up. Now, 'fore we continue, I'm gonna need ta know what you all need and everythin'. Just because I can get ya what you need don't mean I know the finer details," Cobblepot replied, easily dismissing the threat. He knew that this giant hulk was more than capable of carrying out his threats, but you couldn't show fear to him. It was one thing to come from a position of weakness, but another to show that you were afraid.

Those red eyes bore into him from above—like it or not, his height had never been something to be proud of—and never left even as a massive hand plucked a folded piece of paper from his belt. Handing it over, Bane stated, "These are my needs that need to be met."

Unfolding the "grocery list," Cobblpot read over it. "That is some hardware yer wantin', but it shouldn't be any problem."

"Make sure that it isn't," Bane ordered.

"O' course, o' course, but 'fore we go our separate ways, there's somethin' you and I need to discuss," Cobblepot said. "Is this arrangement to be a permanent thin', or a one time deal? Personally, I would prefer the former."

Bane seemed to loom over him, examining the shorter man like he was an annoying insect, debating whether or not he would swat him for his insolence. "This is your test, Cobblepot. Prove to me that you are more than empty words. Once I have the shipment in my hands, the one you are promising me, then we will discuss a more permanent arrangement. Any who seek to do business must me have to earn the privilege; it is not something that is given."

"Fair 'nough," Cobblepot allowed. Either Bane was really full of himself, or extremely paranoid. Though, if it were himself whom the cops were raiding and hitting paydirt on, he suppose that he would be jumping at shadows himself. In spite of that, this was an improvement over being blown off. Now he could start doing some business and finish off the process of rebuilding himself in this city. "This'll be the start o' a workin' relationship, even if it ain't glamorous. You'll 'ave your guns by tomorrow evenin'."

"See to it." Bane was turning his back on him, stomping away. That man had some impressive strength since Cobblepot could have sworn that he felt the pavement under his feet tremble with each impact. It must be his imagination because no one was _that_ strong. Not unless they were one of those people with the inhuman abilities.

Turning to his as-of-then unminded secretary, he remarked, "We 'ave work to do, Ms. Lark. Send the word to my contacts and let's bring us in a shipment of fun toys for Bane's boys ta play with."

"On it," the lovely Lark answered, putting a phone up to her ear. Good work, that, and quick too.

With almost a skip in his step, the Penguin returned to his car, confident that this was indeed the beginning of a not-so-beautiful working relationship.

* * *

Crane was doing a quick count of the cash he had on hand. After last night, he had been very impressed on the effectiveness of his fear toxins, both the aerosol and the liquid version. Even as he escaped from Gotham Mercy, he was in the middle of planning an expansion in his production line.

This meant that if he were to meet his vision, he would need to make sure that he had the cash to do it with. He was going to need some extra hands to help out, and with the state of the city, he figured that there were enough people who were desperate to make a quick buck.

Hmm, he was going to need an advanced payment from his one and only customer first before it could start becoming a reality…

Speaking of whom, someone was placing that payment right next to him and the former researcher didn't need to look up to have visual confirmation. Nevertheless, he did so while eyeing the briefcase. It was the same as the one in which he received his first payment—and was it him, or did it look like it was bulging a bit?

"Not that I'm complaining, but what seems to be the occasion?" Crane asked as he undid the clasps, flipping up the top and almost drooling at the sight of all those Benjamins. If only he had met this benefactor of his sooner…

"An advance," the Phantasm stated, withdrawing his gloved hand back under his cloak. Oh yes, Crane loved that look and once again wondered what it would look like under the effects of his toxin. "All of the toxin you have made, I need it."

"Going to make another attempt on Strange?" the thin, reedy fear connoisseur remarked as he was already pulling out the stacks of currency from the briefcase.

"No."

That stopped the man in his tracks. Had he misheard? Was the Phantasm here saying that he wasn't going to continue his mission to kill that arrogant son of a bitch? That traitor who had left him to rot in Arkham and to the merciless torture by the Batman?

"You're giving up?" Crane said slowly, though his sentence was phrased as a question.

"Withdrawing. The police have increased their presence around Strange and those vigilantes will only continue their interference. It is best to wait until a better opportunity comes along." The wraith-like killer was pulling away, making to leave. "I will return later to collect."

There was something about that that Crane didn't like. "When you say withdraw, do you mean leave the city?"

The masked killer did not answer, but if you were paying attention, the body language, even under that cape, gave away what this costumed man was thinking. It didn't take much to figure out that this person was a man of opportunity, going in for the least risky kills and retreating back into the shadows from whence he came. He was a professional and his every action was pragmatic; he didn't want to be caught, or arrested.

Crane could sympathize with that last part, but where did that leave him? He wasn't about to say it out loud, but he had formed a bit of an attachment with this benefactor of his. This was someone who hadn't betrayed, or abandoned him. He hadn't used him like a tool, working him to the bone and the very limits of his stamina and endurance. No, the Phantasm had commissioned him, was willing to put down payments in advance, and quite frankly had a well-designed costume when the fear factor was the only consideration.

Compared to the treatment he had faced from the False Face Society, Batman, and the City of Gotham, the generosity of this person was, well, addicting. The self-dubbed Scarecrow was about to let him leave this city, especially not when he had truly yet to see him in action with the fear toxin.

"I would suggest not making any abrupt decision, particularly in light of last night's events," Crane spoke aloud, licking his lips as his mind raced, trying to divine some kind of reasoning, or ploy, to keep his latest benefactor close.

The Phantasm paused, but it was one of courtesy, not hesitation. The killer looked over his caped shoulder, waiting for more elaboration.

"There's been...an...incident." Those were the first words that he was able to get out, but still he was trying to make them work for him somehow. But what were they to be about? What was this incident? All it needed to be was something that could somehow interfere with the Phantasm, enough so that it would convince him to stay.

Fortunately, the Phantasm was waiting, though his impatience was becoming noticeable. Even from the side of that skull-esque mask, Crane couldn't help but wonder what the fear toxin twisted it into—wait, that was something.

"I was...expecting a shipment—ingredients for the toxin—but it has yet to arrive," Crane managed to voice out, his words becoming stronger the longer he spoke. "It is a key ingredient, one that cannot be replaced. I...did not want to bring this to your attention because, of course, you have more important matters to—"

"Get to the point," the Phantasm ordered.

"I did some investigating and found that the shipment was seized," Crane explained, still bullshitting his way through this. It was all a lie at this point, but he was matching his words to his demeanor, to give them more credence. "At first I believe it was the police—" The cops? As much as he would want to sic the Phantasm on them, law enforcement was the last group of individual this killer would go after. Think, who else could...of course, "—but further investigation led me to someone else. There have been these armed guerillas in the city, men who work for this man called Bane. Since his war isn't working out for him, he's been pillaging whatever he can get his hands onto and unfortunately this shipment was a casualty."

It was all very plausible. It was also very difficult not to pay attention to what was happening in this city. Crane doubted that he was going to have to put forth any evidence of interference, but then again, there was nothing better than having something concrete.

What really mattered, other than hard evidence, was what the Phantasm decision would be in light of this. Would it be enough to keep him here, or would he decide to leave Gotham in spite of it? This was the moment of truth that the former psychologist waited to learn of.

"I will wait," the Phantasm decided. "Two days, then I will leave. Should this Bane interfere further, then I will take action. After, it will be your problem."

Not the best answer, but Crane had worked with less before. This was only something to placate him, nothing more. He would allow it though, since it gave him breathing room.

However, he had less than forty-eight hours to ensure that his benefactor remained in the city. Already, he was coming to the conclusion that the only way to make sure that this partner of his continued his onslaught would be to give him something to worry about.

It was a good thing he had already laid the groundwork for it. Nothing should grab his attention more than a "second" seizure.

Crane supposed that the bullshit story he had pulled out of his ass was about to gain some truth to it, even if he had to manufacture it himself.

* * *

Being a vigilante was harder than he thought.

The Joker sat in a chair, arms resting on the armrests, his thin body sinking into the rather comfy cushioning. His Bat mask was on another chair, somehow standing up so that its empty face could stare at him. It probably helped that its back was resting up against the back of the chair.

Really, the Joker had to give Batsy some credit. He made this stuff look so easy. Whenever he came up with a scheme, Batsy was there to unravel it, just like he expected him to. He even knew when and how the man would do it too, he was that familiar with him. But now, here he was upholding the man's legacy and he had a trail of collateral damage wherever he went. There was that gang-banger hideout that exploded, then that warehouse crashing down on his head, and finally Wonder Tower was in a giant pile of rubble.

It was as if everything he touched blew up, or something.

Batsy never did that. Most times you didn't even know he was there—ever. Yet, the Joker ran into so many people that he had to make quick exits using his smoke bombs. Well, at least he thought they were smoke bombs. Everyone seemed to run away screaming when he used them. At least that allowed him to slip away without notice.

Truly though, the collateral damage had to stop. What was the point of protecting Gotham if it was a giant bonfire? He only had so many water balloons to put out that kind of blaze! Maybe if he made a whoopee cushion that could hold enough air to blow it out, but that would be one mega-sized whoopee cushion. He was pretty sure that one that size didn't exist.

Then again, the people that invented that wonderful prank hadn't met him.

So how did one go about not blowing everything up? There had to be a trick to it, he just knew it! If the police could figure it out, then he could too!

The biggest problem was that it was so _easy_ to blow things up. Off the top of his head, he could think of six different ways to set the little apartment he was in on fire. Throw in a few drums of gasoline and that would burn the building to the ground along with the ones next to it.

Oh God, see what he meant?! He was already planning on burning the place down! Bad Joker! Very bad Joker! No cookies for you!

The Joker shook his head vehemently. He needed to get his head back into the game. No more collateral damage unless there was a big fight and it couldn't be helped, and even then it had to be the bad guy who did it. There, that solved one problem.

Onto the next one then, because there was always another problem that needed solving. Perhaps his biggest was that the little brat at Wonder Tower unmasked him. There were bad people that knew his secret identity and there was no telling how much damage could be done because of this revelation. He couldn't hide as his society-friendly self when out of costume now. Gasp! What about his loved ones? They could be in danger!

Never mind he couldn't think of any loved ones, but if they were indeed out there, they were now targets. He couldn't let harm come to them.

But what if in the process of saving them they were killed since, ya know, every place he went to as Bat-Joker blew up? They could be killed while he saved them. Then he would be a lost, tragic soul, incapable of loving others in fear of losing them too. It was a vicious cycle that fed itself with every following corpse.

No wonder he was such a good bad guy. He didn't have to concern himself with these issues. Now though, he was being confronted with them and he didn't like it. Bats could keep his shoes cause the Joker was done walking in them. He stunk as a vigilante and there was no way he could get that savior status that Batsy had been upholding so well.

All these dark thoughts, it's no wonder the guy had such a reputation for brooding.

The Joker's mind stopped for a moment, a first in a very, _very_ long time. Was...was he... _brooding?_ Why yes, yes he was. His head perked up at that, his eyes twinkling as joy enveloped him.

"Yes!" he shouted with glee. He was doing it! He was brooding! He was a vigilante through and through! How had he missed this step before? It was so relieving! No wonder Batman did it so much!

Alright, he had his second wind now. There was so much that needed to be done now that he had his head back in the game. He needed to catch more bad guys, find that snot-nosed punk that pulled off his mask, and make him and his undoubtedly evil organization pay for whatever transgressions they had done because seriously, who would wear what they wore if they weren't up to no good. Then...then…

Okay, he lost his concentration there for a moment, but he was sure whatever it was he was thinking of was important. He was sure it would come back to him eventually. For now, he needed to get back onto the streets and let the entire city know that Bat-Joker was ever watchful, silently guarding the poor saps that lived here.

And maybe, just maybe, he too would earn a cool nickname. The White Knight certainly had a nice ring to it.


	33. On The Prowl

Opening the crate, a pair of hands grasped the automatic weapon and pulled it out. A critical eye examined the rifle, searching for any flaws in it before turning to a pair of lensed eyes that stared back impassively, awaiting the verdict.

A simple nod was given; the gun was acceptable.

As the crate was shut and taken away by the mercenaries, Bane turned to the supplier of the shipment it belonged to. "It appears you are true to your word, Cobblepot."

"Like I told ya, I am a man o' my word and I don't break it," the shorter, squatter man replied, speaking around the cigarette holder in his mouth.

"Indeed. Zombie, Bird, I want all of this shipment divided and taken directly to our bases of operation. Take inventory and disperse as needed," the masked man ordered, not looking at his two subordinates.

"As you wish," Zombie said, leading the way for the two men to set about their task. That left one more matter of business to take of.

"Tell me, Cobblepot, when can I expect another shipment?" the Santa Prisca native inquired, his gaze fixated on the movement of his soldiers. Like a well oiled machine, they were moving crate after crate of weaponry into trucks. Under the direction of either of the masked man's lieutenants, the shipment was being divided between the vehicles, each one with its own destination. No sense putting all of their eggs in one basket.

Due to the actions of the police, they were rethinking storage of the weapons; after two dumps had been found and raided, there was no sense in continuing with such a method. Bane was consolidating his arms and redistributing what remained. This shipment could not have come at a better time to replenish what had been lost.

"Depends. What are ya lookin' for?" the short inquired, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"More," Bane stated. "I want more guns, more incendiaries, more of everything. I do not want for anything. Is that within your abilities to do?"

To his credit, Cobblepot wasn't quick to claim that yes, it was within his power. It was plain to see that where this man lacked in physical prowess, he more than made up for it in intelligence. "It's doable," the smoking man said at last. "I can get in touch with my contacts and put in another order if you want."

"Do it," Bane ordered. "I want a constant supply line. No interruptions, no incompetence. If I find myself even the slightest bit frustrated with your performance, I will snap your neck."

"Be reliable and discrete," Cobblepot remarked. "The customer is always right."

"See to your contacts. My attention is required elsewhere for the time being." With those words said, Bane left the shorter man's side and strolled towards where Zombie stood. With the shipment in hand, it was time to begin planning their next move.

"How soon and until we can have the men mobilized?" he asked of the thin, bald man.

"In the next half hour if you want us to use weapons we've just received," Zombie answered.

"We need to put ourselves on the offensive," Bane stated as he crossed his massive arms over his chest. "It's not enough that Bird's recruits are out there. There needs to be a decisive strike from the main force."

"How would we be able to do that when we have no leads on where the Demon's Fang is basing their operations?" his lieutenant inquired. "Without a location, there is no way we are able to rout them."

This was true, and Zombie's questions were a big reason why Bane kept him around. The man had a similar tactical mind to his, but used it more for the smaller issues. Sometimes it was used before Bane ever had a true need for it, which was helpful in that it allowed for some minor hindrances to be removed without needing the masked man's intervention.

"For the time being, we will need to wait for the Demon's Fang to reveal itself, that is if it has recovered from our last attack," Bane said. "However, they are not the only enemy we have. There is another that we need to deal with, and sooner preferable."

It took Zombie a moment before he came to the correct conclusion. "The police."

"While I have been trying to eliminate Ra's al Ghul, law enforcement has been striking blows to the operation that have required the assistance of Cobblepot to be added to my ranks," Bane summed up. "I have underestimated their tenacity; the commissioner has proven to be a more credible threat than previously believed."

"The trap at the stadium and seizure of our equipment," Zombie said. "Based on his known history, his current actions have been unprecedented. We believed that without the Batman, the commissioner would have rolled over and waited for our finishing blow."

"It's become obvious that it will take more than a single attack to not only cripple, but finish law enforcement. We will need to treat them with more respect that we did in Santa Prisca," Bane agreed. "With that in mind, we will need to use more than overwhelming force with our next encounter. We will need to draw them out and face them on a field of our choosing."

"We need not ignore the commissioner's history then," Zombie pointed out. "If nothing else, when caught off guard, he is reactionary. We could use that."

"We could. We will." Already, the stirrings of a plan was forming in his mind. "We will need transportation, not the kind for transporting armaments, but men. Something expendable."

"This city is full of expandable vehicles. We can appropriate what we need," the bald man suggested. "That leaves where we choose to confront them."

"There are plenty of locations to choose from. What truly matters is what I need to get from this," Bane stated. "It has to be more than a simple blow. It has to be something that shakes the police to their core and cause division within the ranks. Unlike us, American law enforcement is more prone to dissension, and that is a weakness to exploit."

"You already have a target. Make your will known to us and we will follow it," Zombie said. It was a statement that did not need to be said, but it applied to everyone under the masked man's command. None were under any illusion that their lives were safe, yet they would throw themselves into Hell itself if that is what their leader wanted.

"You said the men would be ready in half an hour? Make it so. The sooner we strike, the less time Gordon has to maintain his offensive," he instructed. "In the meantime, I want to learn of Tetch's progress; if there is more he needs, Cobblepot may prove useful in obtaining it."

"I will check in as soon as I am done with the men," Zombie told him and left to accomplish his tasks.

That left Bane to his own devices. Since he had brought it up, he reflected on what he was commissioning the so-called Mad Hatter to do. With the city proven to be more resistant to his conquest than anticipated, a new tactic to dominating it was required and if this Hatter was capable of the stories told about him, this undertaking would be more than its worth in achieving. Secrecy would be its greatest shield and one that need to be maintained at all times. The renewed assault on the GCPD would help with that.

Then there was that other recruit, Zsasz. Compared to Tetch, that man was a rabid dog and the only thing one could use that to one's advantage was to let loose of his leash. The only thing reliable about him was that he was going to kill people.

If would be too convenient if those people happen to belong to any of his enemies. Instead of waiting for that to happen, he would take the initiative himself.

If any of them thought that he was about to crumble under the pressure, it was time that he disabuse them of that notion.

He was nowhere near finished.

* * *

It was getting harder and harder to find zombies these days. Like rodents, the walking dead men and women were going into hiding once the sun set and then only a few of the brave, or stupid ones would venture out.

Thanks to all the action that now happened almost every night, even the brave and stupid ones were in short supply, both having become collateral damage in all the cross fire. It made a man like Zsasz reconsider when he should do his hunting.

The thing about doing it in daylight was that there were more eyes on you and it was harder to snatch a zombie off the streets to liberate them. It was even harder than that to try and get away after the fact as zombies tended to notice blood when there was more light around. This isn't to say that he hadn't liberated a few of them here and there, but it was nothing like before his capture.

His head had rung for days after that, and lets not even get to the headache. There was a special place on his skin he had reserved for the woman in purple. He had a feeling that she was still alive somewhere in this maze of a city. It would only be a matter of time until he found her, or she found him, and when that happened, he would be ready for the fight.

While the serial killer preferred his zombies to be under his control, there was nothing quite like it when one fought back. The way his heart would pound in his chest, the sense of accomplishment when his blade sliced through flesh, tendon, and muscle, and the sensation of crimson liquid, be it his or theirs, dripping down his skin…

It would be like that when he found her, not if. When. Until then, he would contend himself with the prey that the zombie known as Bane wanted. That assistant of his, the one with the blond hair, had taken him aside soon after the bald man had laid eyes on the monster of a zombie and had told him about some other zombies that happened to dress up as ninjas.

These were the ones that Bane wanted out of his way and would pay double for. That had piqued the killer's interest and so out into Gotham he went, hunting for this elusive prey.

He had seen them before, but had not made any attempts. Even in his eyes, he knew there was something that was not normal about them, and it made these different zombies stand out from the disgustingly normal ones. It wasn't that they were darker skinned, or made a shitty attempt at dressing like everyone else.

They moved differently. They seemed to be in a world all of their own, one that had them sticking to the fringes, much like Zsasz himself. They were hunters, but ones with leashes. Dangerous, but with blind spots.

The thing about a person like Zsasz, he was good at finding and getting into those blind spots. The only problem was that he needed to find these different zombies first.

Like any kind of predator, patience was key. As he strolled down the sidewalks of the city, he did his best to restrain his urges to start slashing and gashing the other puny zombies around him. It was so tempting, really, to want to liberate them. The way they scurried, shoulders hunched like they were making themselves smaller, eyes wide and darting from side to side for any kind of threat…

Zsasz paused and took a step to aside, slightly removing himself from the dwindling crowds of zombies. Narrowing his eyes, he did a quick look around. He had thought he had seen something, something that stuck out, but now it was gone. He calmed his breathing and studied his surroundings...there!

Right there, two zombies that seemed to not fit were across the street, their strides filled with purpose and their shoulders broad and straight. It was a walk that had no fear in it.

You could not hide that from his eyes.

Taking a moment to gauge where they were going, Zsasz began to follow after them, keeping to his side of the street. You would think move against the crowd would make him stand out, but he was used to blending in. He allowed the weak zombies to flow around him, slipping through the shrinking hoard of them as the night lengthened.

These strong zombies, they were going somewhere. At some point, the liberator crossed the street, closing in on them. You needed to be careful with the strong ones; they could put up a fight if you struck at the wrong second, and really it was all about that one second. No one could have their guard up all day, it was tiring no matter your stamina. He had found that the best time was when the zombies thought they were safe, or in the clear, because that was the instant their guard dropped.

So for now it was a waiting game, even as he continued to trail after them. To further blend in, he walked with purpose, kept his eyes focused on something ahead of the two zombies. If the zombies would make a turn, it was all about making a show of looking at the street signs, expressing uncertainty in the body language, then showing that you knew where you were and continuing on the coincidental path of your prey.

From all appearances, even if these zombies knew he was follow after him, they did show that they were concerned about him. Still, Zsasz had seen this before and knew not to be tricked by it. There had been zombies in the past that had appeared weak, but had only used it as a cover, revealing an ability to fight for life that had made them a challenge.

These two zombies had that fatal error in not expressing weakness; it gave away that they were strong and any element of surprise was thrown away due to that.

Eventually, the targeted zombies entered an alley, which was both anticipated and dreaded. The former was because that was where Zsasz did his best work, in places out of eyesight of the lesser, weaker zombies. The latter he felt because that meant continuing to hide in this environment was no longer an option.

While alleys gave privacy, if he suddenly turned down it, he would give away that he was following. So he moved past it deliberately, using only his peripheral vision to watch his prey. The pair were moving around garbage, heading towards a door towards the end of it. If the liberator's knowledge of Gotham's alleyways and backstreets was correct, there was a left intersecting turn in down that way. If it wasn't the door that was their destination, they could vanish into the backstreets.

Stopping his stroll once he was past the alley, he pressed his back against the brick and mortar of the building beside him. Then he took a peek down the alley, spying out that the two zombies were indeed at the door and hadn't gone for the intersection.

One of the zombies was entering the building while the other was taking up a guard post. They were splitting up, good.

This would be a risk, but if he was to maintain his own element of surprise, he would need to do it. He moved away from the alley and strolled further down the street

Taking a turn at the corner, he continued on his way until he reached another alley. It was a straight shot down it, stepping around dumpsters and random pieces of garbage until he reached the intersecting alley where he had last seen his prey. And there he was, still waiting for the other zombie.

Moving back, Zsasz picked up a handful of gravel from the ground. Picking a few of the larger pieces, he threw a few into the intersecting alley and another back towards a dumpster he had passed by earlier. Throughout that, he was moving backwards and picking through the discarded trash that was strewn about. Tossing a can up into the air, he hid behind one of the dumpsters and cast further down the alley an empty beer bottle.

Then he waited.

Precious seconds ticked by, but he was patient. To save time, he had slipped his handy knife out, his hand clutching the handle as he kept the blade itself hidden. There was no sense in letting a little light reflect off the sharpened metal.

He almost missed it, yet was able to keep his surprise in check as his prey walked by, investigating the ruckus he had caused. The zombie was on full alert, his body tense though his hands were empty. It knew how to fight, so that would mean…

Careful not to make any sounds, Zsasz stood up and stepped behind the zombie. With his knife held at the ready, he reached out but did not go for the head, or the shoulder. Instead, he slipped his hand into the hood that hung off the zombie's jacket and yanked down on it. That had the effect of throwing the zombie off his balance, which it directed all its attention to regaining.

Thus it made itself vulnerable to the knife that slipped beneath its chin and dug into the soft flesh under it. Blood spewed out and drenched anything and everything it could. As the zombie reached for its throat, Zsasz was already stabbing the knife into the chest once, twice, three times, then with his other arm, snaked it around the zombie's forehead and gave a jerk, twisting the slit neck.

It took a few minutes after that for the zombie to drown in its own blood, but eventually that was another mark to add to the serial killer's tally. Rolling up his sleeve as far as he could get it, Zsasz searched for the uncompleted group of five he was in the works of completing, finding it on the back of his tricep. It was a little awkward, but he reached it and carved another mark to bring that total to four. One more until completion and then it would be on to the next one.

But wait, there was a second zombie, was there not? Perhaps he did not need to wait for long for that completion.

However, there were more important matters that needed to be completed. First, this zombie needed to posed, maybe as bait for the other zombie?

He had just the pose in mind.

* * *

It had been some time since the Commissioner had done a proper investigation. He had ordered them, set up task forces, and overseen many of them, but to be engaged with one, it had been a long time.

It was those anonymous tips that had been coming into the department about Bane's weapons dumps that had brought that investigative bug back into him. It was also like riding a bike; you never really forgot how to do them.

His skills were rusty, but the more he did it, the more comfortable he became. The first thing that needed to be done was see what the numbers for those calls were. He was both surprised and not that both of these tips came from the same number. And old friend would never have done this.

That meant the caller was either new at this, extremely lucky he, or she, had not been caught yet, or were incompetent. The same number meant the same phone, or sim card, and getting a hold of the phone company to get the data on that number was simple. Completely time consuming, but simple all the same.

Now this was curious: when the calls were made, the caller was nowhere near where the dump sites were. That was smart in that the tipster was not putting themselves in potential danger by being next to the sites. That way Bane's men would be nowhere near to hear the call and possibly interrupt the call.

However, the area where the calls were made were suspicious. After leading the police department for so long, Gordon had learned which areas were which. If the GPS locations were correct, the tipster had called in an area that for economic reasons didn't make sense that a person from that region would just so happen to find those dumps.

But he had always been a thorough investigator, so he had left the department to continue this unofficial investigation and see what he could find. With a brown trench coat covering his body, he made what some would say was a risky move and took to the streets.

That meant he parked his car nearby and went on foot through the neighborhood.

Now, some would make comments on this. Some would say he was being stupid, what with being a very public face of the city and with the streets like they were, he'd be asking for someone to attack him. Others would insist he needed a partner, or someone to be with him as a precaution.

Gordon would say that everyone else was working so hard to save this city that his personal investigation of his was not worth the time or resources that the department was in sore need of. What, in the grand scheme of things, was looking into a much-too-helpful citizen compared to taking down the man shaking up both the city and underworld?

Now, the first thing he did was begin a canvas, asking the locals about the area. Almost always, the people who were in the area tended to know a lot about what was actually going on than an officer who happened to around to look into a crime.

What was really surprising was that in spite of the city going down the toilet, this was a part of it that was starting to see some revitalization. Someone was putting some money into it. In fact, most people tended to point out a specific location where it all began. Some were praising, others seemed to not like it because it was too much change.

It was from the naysayers that he started picking up the rumors of backroom dealings and some seedy business happening in this place. This was the kind of stuff he was trained to look for, not necessarily what he was looking for in this case.

It did bring up a possibility that if the tipster had any involvement in the establishment, then there was a reason why such good tips were being sent in. Someone was trying to be underhanded in getting rid of the competition. That meant the tipster might not be a good Samaritan.

From the sounds of things, his hunch was proving to be well-founded. Nothing left to do but to go check this place out and see what it was about. Were rumors true, or just a bunch of people unhappy with someone new moving in. This neighborhood was primarily made up of businesses, but there was some gentrification happening as well. Nearby was some residential neighborhoods, so there was a worry of one zone creeping in on another.

As he approached the location that he was pointed to, he read the sign out front.

Iceberg Lounge.

The Commissioner hadn't heard about this place, but then again, this kind of thing wasn't up his alley. The phone records indicated that whoever put in the tips was from here. So it could be from a payphone. This place didn't seem like the type that Bane's men would willingly go to when they were on break, so from that aspect it would be safe to send an anonymous tip in.

Grabbing a door handle, Gordon entered the building only to come to a stop when two large men in some fashionable attire stood in his way.

"Who are you? We're not open," one of them stated, his voice gruff.

Deciding to play dumb, Gordon answered, "You aren't? Sorry, but I was suppose to meet a friend. I think this was the place, but I could be mixed up."

One of the men raised an eyebrow. "A friend?" he repeated, skeptical.

"If you say you're not open, I'll just wait outside," Gordon continued. "I wouldn't want to get in the way if you're setting up." He even took a step back through the door so as to show his sincerity. In his head, he was suspicious about the immediate response. It could be that these two happened to be right there when he opened the door, but until proven otherwise, he would not accept this as coincidence yet.

Then something odd happened. One of the two men was opening his mouth to speak when he stopped, a hand going up to his ear. An earpiece? In a place like this? Maybe he needed to do some research on what this Iceberg Lounge was supposed to be.

Then, "Sounds like your friend is here," the large man grunted. Gesturing for Gordon to follow him, the man said, "Stay close to me." The other man continued to eye the glasses-wearing Commissioner, barely showing any emotion.

There were alarms blaring in his head, but Gordon figured from the looks of these two guys, leaving might not be an option. Besides, this was a chance to find out what the hell was going on.

While the picture of several of his closest colleagues were shaking their heads at him in his head, Gordon accepted this invitation and entered further into the establishment.

* * *

It was nice to know that even now Nightwing still used that old storage container. Based on the fact that he saw none of the newbies around, Red Robin assumed that his old partner had yet to share with them its location. Sure, they had those lockers over in the Bat-bunker, but this, this was something that was wholly Batclan.

He was glad to see his hunch was right tonight.

As Nightwing—ahem, Dick as he was still in civvie clothing—was opening the lock to the container's door, the teen vigilante gave a cough from above where he had perched himself. That caught the older male's attention and Red Robin was quick to note his reflexes.

With a small smile on his face, he merely said, "Care for some light stretching?"

Minutes later, it was the two of them out in the big city itself, and man, the nostalgia. There had been a part of the younger teen that recalled what it was like to work with the other, moving back into sync so easily despite the disuse. This was nothing like with the others back in Jump, whom he in a way was still working to find some kind of balance with.

But nothing could, or would, replace the old veterans of the Batclan.

In fact, between the two of them, they had found and stopped two muggings, and did that whole get a cat out of a tree bit. Literally, they did, though Red Robin thought he did most of the work right there. Not that he was complaining or anything. It was something to add to the little "warm-up" they were doing, getting their crime-fighting muscles all ready for the night.

So once they took a break, that was when one of them really put out there what they both were thinking. "It's been too long," Nightwing commented. "Really hasn't been the same without you around."

"Ditto," he agreed. Then he added, "But what did any of us expect? What are the odds we would have gone off on our own and made new teams anyway?"

"In your case, we know that you would have," the older vigilante quipped back. With a smirk, he continued, "Who'd have thought you'd find a bunch of kids with superpowers to team up with? Speaking of which, where'd you leave them? Based on what you told everyone, they're like a young Justice League."

"Last I checked, they're living it up in the Keys until further notice," Red Robin answered. "A couple of them wanted to come up here, but I had to shoot that down. I didn't want them having to deal with any of this."

"We could use their help," Nightwing pointed out.

"Yeah, but they don't know Gotham. Jump has its problems, but it's nothing like here. I'm more afraid they'd do more damage than actual good and against someone like Bane? What we found out about him in Peña Duro, I'm surprise that any of us are still alive right now." And after seeing a place that looked like it was ripped right out of ancient history, it made the teen really glad he was born in the good ol' U. S. of A.

"But letting them have a good time in the Keys is better?" Now that it was worded like that…

"We're not an official team. Not yet. Right now, I've got them bunking in one house that I don't own and who knows how long that'll last," the masked teen replied. It was only by Cassie's good graces that she had put up with them all. Like with all things, it wasn't going to last, so someone—namely himself—was going to have to figure out where they were going to go. In reality, it was finding a place for an alien exile, a cyborg, a green shape-shifter, and whatever Raven was, to stay at.

Himself? Well, he had his parents, and Cassie was in her mom's. That was the problem, though: how long until Cassie's mom came back? There was a ticking clock here, but no one knew how much time was on it. This was the kind of stuff that was keeping him up at night.

"But what about you? I see you found yourself a new team," Red Robin remarked.

"Found is not the word I would use," Nightwing said dryly. "Forced is close enough."

"Well, tell me about them. They are replacing me after all," the masked teen said with good humor.

"Well, two are girls and one's a guy." Nightwing shrugged his shoulders and left it at that.

Red Robin couldn't resist; he gave a smack to the older male's shoulder. "You know what I mean. What do you really think about them? I want to know that my old partner's in good hands. I mean, I know with Oracle backing you, that's one thing, but these guys are with you on the streets."

The older vigilante was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the city around him. That was fine, he could wait until his ex-partner could put it all into words. Patience was something he had had a lot of practice with recently.

Finally, "They have their strengths, their weaknesses. We all do. Bluebird, the one that looks like a punk rock girl, she's a wiz with her gadgets, especially when electricity is involved. I think it might be a natural gift if what Huntress told me is true. She has some good aim with that taser rifle of hers, but that can be a weakness if it's knocked out of her hands. She's done well with the hand-to-hand I'm teaching her, can take a hit, but she's a little slow at really picking it up.

"Spoiler's the opposite. At first, she was bad, no question. Then we figured out what her style of fighting is and she's been taking off. Has a problem with confidence, though. I really need to get it through her head that she's better than she thinks she is. She can learn, and she has some brains in her head when she cares to use it."

"That's two," Red Robin said. "What about the guy? The one with the anger issues?"

"Ja—Red Hood literally only joined up some weeks ago. Before Bane beat Batman. He's been a real headache, but I can't put down his eagerness. I don't know if he's in this for the right reasons, though." There was a deep sigh there, a big sign that this new guy, this Red Hood was really taking a lot out of Nightwing. "He's proven to be a better fighter than the girls, but that's all he wants to do: fight. And he's hard headed, like you."

"Oh, thanks a lot," the younger teen snarked back.

"I don't know all they're capable of," Nightwing admitted, "but if they could somehow get around what holds them back, who knows what they'd be able to do?"

"So Spoiler needs more confidence, Red Hood needs to be less of an asshole and more of a team player?" Red Robin summed up. The stuff about Red Hood also included his own observation of the guy. However, that left one person. "What about Bluebird? Other than needing to be a better fighter since that's what we all need to do."

"Too much reliant on her toys, kind of like you," the older vigilante replied. Taking a look at him, "You have to admit, once Batman started giving us some of his toys, you really went all in on them. Spent more time throwing your birdarangs around than throwing a punch or three."

Christ, he hated that name. Why the hell had he thought it had ever been cool?

However, Nightwing wasn't finished. "In some ways, I can still see you like the toys, what with that new cape of yours, but I've noticed something new about you. You're actually doing more fighting with your fists now. Not that that's a bad thing, but mind telling me what prompted that change?"

A grim smile formed on the masked teen's face. "I did tell you that Jump also has its problems, right? Well, I spent way too much time fumbling my way through them, and after a guy with Freddy Kruger knives for fingers kicks your ass a couple times, you have to start doing something different. I really learned my limitations out there and I figured that if this is something I wanted to continue, I was really going to need to bone up on my hand-to-hand. So I found someone to spar with, someone who I knew wasn't going to hold back on me."

Boy, Cassie really never held back on him.

"Seems to be paying off," Nightwing remarked. "You wouldn't happen to be using one of those guys from your super team for this, right?"

Nailed it on the first try. "The worst part is that it's a girl who's been throwing me around until I started to man up a bit. She still is the better fighter, but to be able to wipe some of that smugness off her face is kinda worth it all."

"So someone kinda like Batgirl, the first one," the older vigilante concluded. When Red Robin didn't immediately say anything, the taller male added, "Don't give me that look. Remember back when we first started? I know I was the better fighter, but Oracle was able to hold her own against you, if not outright pin you to the mat."

"Don't remind me," Red Robin grumbled. That was a sobering reminded of days long past there.

Because he wasn't looking at his former partner, he missed the smirk that formed on the other's lips. "Seems like you have a bit of a problem with the ladies; they're always finding ways to beat you up. Maybe you need to start looking at people more in your league."

"Oh ha, ha, no," Red Robin grumbled.

"Let's really take a look at this. You have Oracle, whom I've noticed has been chewing you out a lot; then there's this girl you spar with now who doesn't seem to be willing to spare your face a black eye, I'm betting. Oh well, guess we all can't be ladies men like myself," Nightwing teased.

"Says the guy who hangs out with a couple of girls nearly half his age," Red Robin retorted.

"This coming from the guy who hangs out with girls almost twice his?" Nightwing shot back.

"That's not true! ...anymore." He had to think about that one. If you considered Oracle and the Birds, then yeah, that was right on the money. It wasn't that way in Jump, as far as he knew.

Naturally, he didn't say that last part quietly enough. "I'm betting there's some girls on that new team of yours. Now I'm really curious. Who'd you get to replace me and Oracle?"

"There's no way to replace you guys, and you know it," he retorted. "Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't. These guys, though, some of what they can do is amazing. Really, only one of them is kinda on board; I guess you could say the rest are going through the motions. Like they don't have anything else better to do. But if you could get someone like Cyborg on your side, and Starfire, and Ca—Wonder Girl, those are some guys I'd love to be watching my back more often."

"Let me guess, Cyborg is a cyborg," Nightwing asked.

Red Robin refused to dignify that with any response. "I hate to admit this, but if we're to be a real team, you know, like how we use to be with the Batclan, we need something to bring us together. Last time, it was to save our lives. We don't have that anymore, not that I'm complaining. I wouldn't be surprised after all that crap in Peña Duro that some decide to stick around in the Florida Keys. Not that I blame them, or anything."

"They don't have a higher calling. Well, what about the one who's on board?"

"That's another mess in and of itself. Beast Boy's got the whole "I don't remember my past" thing going on and he's trying to find it while fighting bad guys at the same time. I have no idea what he'll do whenever we can find Galtry and find out what he wants to know. Still, I wouldn't want someone like Bane giving us a reason to stick together. It could be so much worse."

"Well, maybe it's not meant to be. I think you need to figure out what you're going to do, whether these guys and girls are going to be around or not," Nightwing told him. "Accept whatever help you can get, don't refuse it, but don't try to force it either. Remember where we all came from, and that's a want to help a poor guy or lady out because someone was trying to mug them. Simple stuff like that."

"You know, you were always the one who saw the big picture," Red Robin said. "Me and Oracle? We were always trying to be smarter that we really were and that had us missing things."

It was nice that Nightwing didn't flat out agree with that, you know, being the one who could read the atmosphere better and all. There were times that nothing needed to be said, because all the important stuff had already been said.

So when the older vigilante spoke, it was to say, "We better start heading back to the bunker. Gotta get together with everyone and plan our next moves."

Red Robin couldn't help it. "Bet you I get there first."


	34. Attack On City Hall

Though the sun had set, the men and women who made their livings at the temporary location of City Hall were only now beginning to leave, whether it was to head home, run a few errands, or making a less than wholesome detour. Instead of the majesty that was the original building, the inner workings of the city's government had moved into a nondescript, multi-story building that looked like any ordinary office building. Sure, there were countless windows, but it wasn't the same.

A new building, currently being planned out and a location cleared out, was in the works because there were certain luxuries the old one had that the new one didn't. Bureaucrats, as it turned out, could not go backwards in working lifestyles.

Perhaps the only part of this temporary location that was acceptable was the lobby; it was much more modern and matched with the look of Gotham as it was in the modern day. It may not have had as much history as the old one did, but for individuals who happened to have come from the private sector, this was much more comfortable for them to walk through early in the morning and late at night.

That was before an SUV crashed through the front entrance and kept going until it hit the front desk. For those just exiting, there was some disbelief at this occurrence which warred with a more mundane feeling of "Again?" Cue the panic as government employees began to run for another exit, hoping to escape whatever was happening this time. Security guards were running towards the crashed vehicle, firearms unholstered and ready to be fired.

Unfortunately for the fleeing employees, the other exits were blocked off by other vehicles, which were accompanied by armed men marching through the doors and shooting in the air. Like scared sheep, they ran back the way they came, hoping to find another way out. The sudden turn in panicking people caused the guards to turn towards this latest disturbance, many cursing as they began to run to this new threat.

This building only had three major entrances: the north, the east, and the south. From the south had come the initial charge of that SUV. From north entrance, the armed men were accompanied by a blond-haired man in a red vest with a falconer's glove on his left arm. He commanded the men to spread out and secure all they could, take hostages if they were able. As security rushed to meet them and began to open fire, the Santa Priscan mercenaries returned it, turning that portion of the floor into a shootout.

From the east, a certain masked man larger than any of the invaders stomped his way through, showing absolutely no signs of emotion at the panic of the people, or the bloodthirstiness of his men. In fact, the men with him turned their guns on anyone running away and began to fire. Security personnel that happened to appear were gunned down immediately, unable to react fast enough to return fire, or find cover.

The death and carnage meant nothing to the man in charge of the operation.

The gunfire only stopped when Bane moved around the men and began to increase his speed. He left orders to secure the elevators and stairs. No one was allowed to try to escape, especially if they happened to be a high-ranking government official.

There were plans for them.

Stopping only to gaze at a directory, Bane took it upon himself to use the stairs. He did not have the patience to wait for the elevator to descend and ascend. In his mind, this would be quicker and continue the quick momentum of the plan.

Reaching a certain floor, he examined the doors, specifically the assigned room numbers. He took a right, keeping a quick pace. There was resistance up ahead, more security guards, which was to be expected. Punching a hand into a nearby door, he yanked the wooden barrier out of its hinged and used it as a shield just as the guards began to firing. Not expecting it to cover him for long, the masked man charged forward and rammed the uniformed men, trampling over them.

He could feel the impacts against the door, which only urged him forward. By the time he reached the end of the hallway, he had left a trail of bodies in his wake. Some of the guards were groaning from whatever injuries they had received while others were more silent.

Casting aside the ruined door, the masked man glanced at the nearest room number and took a left. Silently counting the increase in numbers, he came to a stop in front of one of them. Like everything else on this floor, the door in front of him looked like all the others. It was a small plaque next to it that had his attention. There were a few words on it, but that was all he needed to justify raising up a bloodied, booted foot and kicking it into the wood-based surface.

He barely felt anything resist his foot, and down the door went, revealing a small waiting room. Of course, Americans had to have waiting rooms for everything. What that ended up amounting to was kicking in another door and there, there was his prize.

A man cowering behind his desk, peeking over it with a frightened eye.

Standing tall, arms at his sides, Bane stated, "You are Mayor Sebastian Hady."

The man behind the desk winced, his body language giving him away. Had it been visible, Bane would have smiled at the sight.

Instead, he began to approach the government official. "I have a use for you and you will fulfill it."

* * *

Whatever Gordon had been expecting out of the Iceberg Lounge, this hadn't been it. Everything here was upper crust, not dim and lower class. The floor was smooth, so much so it looked like you could slip on it just by stepping on it. The tables looked like they could cost a pretty penny, and what kind of dishes were those? They almost looked like crystal. And were those silver candlesticks holding the candles?

Let's not forget that in the center of the large dining area was a railed off portion that had a body of water in it. Sticking out of it was a large piece of what looked like either glass or, as it was designed to appear, ice. Had to be some kind of transparent plastic; Gordon supposed that this was where the iceberg theme was emphasized.

Off to the left was the bar with some finely-dressed bartenders cleaning classes. On the far wall was a large opening where the Commissioner could have sworn were slot machines. He was going to have to look up what the state of legalized gambling in the city was. He knew that Hady had been a big supporter of it. With everything happening with Blackgate and later Bane, he had been distracted.

However, he was led up a flight of stairs and down a hallway, which must have had private rooms. His big, burly guide stopped in front of a door and opened it, gesturing for the glasses-wearing man to enter. It was as if he was saying "After you," as if he had suddenly developed manners just by walking through this place.

Gordon eyed the man suspiciously, but accepted the "invitation." As soon as he got a good look as to who was in this room, he came to an abrupt stop, his eyes widening and nostrils flaring.

"Well, well, it's quite an honour to see ya, Com'issioner," greeted the ugly, fat, short and squat form of Oswald Cobblepot, known to the rest of the world the Penguin. The bastard was lounging on a couch, a very attractive woman at his side sitting prim and proper. "Had I known you were comin', why, I'd tidy up the place a bit more. Come in, take a seat."

"The hell do you think you're doing!" Gordon demanded, his fingers itching for his sidearm. He never reached for it because he knew about the large man behind him, the one that had led him through the Lounge. He hadn't left and the Commissioner was under no illusion that he wasn't packing heat himself. Cobblepot wouldn't be so stupid as to not be armed, or have one of his flunkies armed.

"Now, I think it's obvious. I'm a legit businessman, Gordon and this, this is my place o' business," Cobblepot answered, looking like he had no care in the world. After everything he had done, he should be.

"You? Legit? You kidnapped my daughter, you goddamn bastard!" he roared back, his body trembling with rage. "You should be rotting in goddamn Blackgate, you son of a bitch!"

"Funny thin', I got paroled. Time off for good behavior," the monocle—goddamn it, that bastard was wearing a monocle—wearing man replied. Cobblepot held up a cigarette holder, a lit cigarette placed in it, and put it in his mouth. Breathing out a puff of smoke, he continued, "Since I learnt my lesson, crime doesn't pay and all, I decided I was goin' ta give somethin' back to the city that's given me everythin', and get paid for it while I was at it. You know, that ol' American dream. No hard feelin's 'bout that business back then, eh?"

"What part of 'you kidnapped my daughter' don't you understand?" Gordon growled, taking a step forward. He could feel the presence of that large man behind him and so stopped where he was. "I should put two in your head!"

"Mr. Cobblepot has reformed, Commissioner Gordon. You can't come to his establishment and slander him with that kind of language," the woman beside the crook spoke up.

However, bizarrely, it was Cobblepot who spoke up in Gordon's defense. "Now, now, Ms. Lark, I did him a bad one long ago. He has e'ery right to not be...happy 'bout my release. It's the least I can do after that sordid affair with...what was her name again? Ah yes, Bar—"

"You don't have the right to say her name," the angry commissioner snarled, interrupting the short man.

"Fair 'nough," Cobblepot allowed. "Howe'er, my tolerance for any disrespect is limited, Com'issioner. Whether ya like it or not, we're on the same side, you and I."

"The hell are you talking about? We're not on the same side," Gordon retorted. What ideas this bastard had, he didn't care where he had come up with them—they were wrong. There was no way in hell he would ever be on the same side as Oswald Cobblepot.

"Don't be too hasty, my friend. Like you, I love this city," the crime boss said. "'fore my parents took me off to jolly ol' England, the Cobblepots used to be a big name 'ere. It's why I crossed the pond to come back 'ere. An' even though I've only become a free man recently, I know there is only one thin' that's for certain."

Here, Cobblepot paused, taking a moment to lick his lips. He had removed that cigarette from his mouth, though he held it casually between two fingers. Gordon was humoring him, though not really caring what he was saying.

"Bane is bad for business."

Gordon raised an eyebrow. "And that's suppose to mean something to me?"

"After all the crap he has put you and your boys in, why, I'd 'ave thought you would agree with that." Cobblepot took a moment to take another inhale on his smoke. "He's givin' this city a right thrashin'. This ain't good for anybody who gives a lick o' what goes on in 'ere. If he has it his way, Bane will take all o' Gotham, not just the criminal part, but yours as well. He wants it all, see. No competition whatsoever and he plans ta get rid o' all his rivals, including you, Com'issioner."

He frowned at that piece of information. "Me?"

"Bane's not goin' to be some master o' the underworld; he's goin' to be the law o' Gotham. That means gettin' rid o' you law folk. And you, Com'issioner? You're right smack dab on the top o' his list 'cause you're the one that leads all the cops 'ere. Your number may not 'ave come up yet, but you better believe it's only a matter o' time. You need me if you want ta save your skin."

While it was unnerving what this man was saying, and he couldn't dismiss the accusations, Gordon still held doubts, especially with that last part. "I fail to see that. It'll be a cold day in hell before I ever need you."

"Hope you 'ave your winter coat on, Gordon, 'cause someone just turned off the pilot light," Cobblepot chuckled. The crime boss' face then grew serious. "Tell me, 'ave you e'er figured out who busted open Blackgate some time ago?"

"What does that—"

"'Cause when I played follow the leader during that whole business, I fully intended ta leave Gotham, only I found out I couldn't. There were these Hispanic blokes blocking the way, refusing ta let anybody get out. They told us the only way we could was if we offed the Bat. If not, they was goin' ta load us up with so many bullets, we'd die of the lead poisonin' 'fore the blood loss killed us.

"Which got me thinkin'. An' after I got back to the big city, I did some digging o' my own. Someone broke us all out for a reason; it wasn't some accident. Take a wild guess who I found on the other end, so to speak, the one armin' those illegals and trapping us all 'ere?"

"Bane?" That was the only name that came to mind, and now Gordon was worried. If what Cobblepot was saying was true, then everything that had been happening these past several weeks had started much earlier, back when Blackgate was attacked.

"Right on the money, Gordon. You're smarter than most people give you credit for. Yes, it was Bane who sprung us and now I know what you're thinkin'. Why? Why do that? I'll save ya some time and tell you. Attackin' Blackgate was a means ta take care o' a rival, the only one that could 'ave challenged him, an' that was the Batman. As we all can see, it worked. Most blokes try to go after the city first an' let Batman come to them, muckin' e'erything up, but Bane is smart too. Never doubt that.

"That's the thin', though. When you think e'erythin' is goin' your way, that's when you're most vulnerable. What you see before you now is your ticket to takin' Bane down, Com'issioner. That's right, I managed to find myself a niche in Bane's operation an' I'm offerin' to let you take advantage o' it to save this city, provided, o' course, that you don't interfere with my business. It's a fair deal, wouldn't you say?"

Things began to click in his head. The little details, the questions, all of it was coming together. "You've been calling in those tips so that so you could worm your way in. Now that you are, you want to bargain your way with me so that you can rebuild your own organization without fear that I'll bust you up."

"Now, now, don't be gettin' your undies in a twist 'ere. Sure, I get somethin' out o' it, but we both want the same thin'," Cobblepot stated. "You can't tell me you 'ave somethin' better lined up, and, oh, would you look at that, I've done most o' the hard work for ya, thank you very much. In fact, I've gone 'bove an' beyond, too. I could 'ave just kept this all to myself and continued actin' like your guardian angel, but I wanted you ta find me, Gordon. That's the only real reason you're 'ere; because I allowed it."

Cobblepot couldn't have put it better unless he was saying flat out "I'm using you." This was a deal with the devil that was being offered to Gordon, one with the promise of stopping Bane and saving Gotham.

But he couldn't forget about that phone call, the voice of his terrified daughter, and the threats to hurt her, if not outright kill her. He knew, oh he _knew_ , what this bastard was capable of and this Good Samaritan martyr act he was trying to pull off was a means to an end. Cobblepot had every intention of saving his own hide while profiting from it.

Yet, if his claim was true, that he had an in with Bane, why shouldn't he use it? Who was the lesser of the two evils here?

"Trust me when I tell you this, I 'ave done a lot more reformin' than you think I 'ave." Now Cobblepot was trying to persuade him, and brush away their past history while he was at it. "I'll be your undercover operative and you don't 'ave to risk any o' your cop buddies. But for the time bein', if I am to do this, you will look the other way when it's one o' my operations. We can renegotiate once that masked devil is out o' the picture. What do ya say? There's no one else in Gotham that can deliver on what I'm offerin'."

Gordon balled his hands into fists. If Cobblepot thought he had a silver tongue, he was so wrong. It was the tactical part of him that had yet to flat out refuse.

"I'll take your silence as a yes," Cobblepot stated. "And since we'll be workin' with one 'nother for the time bein', let me tell you that Bane has somethin' goin' down _tonight_. If I was you, I would go and get your boys geared up and ready for a fight. Better hurry 'fore the fireworks get started, if ya know what I'm sayin'."

The Commissioner could only glare, but he said nothing. What else could he say...except, "Don't get too comfortable, Cobblepot. I'll be coming for you next."

"O' course, o' course," the threatened man dismissed with a wave of his hand. Then, as if a thought had occurred to him, "'fore you take your leave, I'd like ta add that you won't 'ave to worry 'bout dear ol' Barbara. From what I've heard, she's been through enough as it is."

The temptation to ignore protect and serve and pull out his gun had never been stronger. Spinning on his heel, Gordon moved around his guide through this horrible blast from the past and left the private room. No sooner had he crossed that threshold was he taking out his phone.

Before he could dial a number, it began to ring, almost startling him. With a quick swipe on the screen, he put the device up to his head and said, "Gordon."

A moment later, he came to a sudden stop. "What happened?!"

* * *

The sirens grew louder, coupled with the squealing of rubber across asphalt as the squad cars skidded to a stop. From all streets, the police showed up in force, stopping as they took positions in front of City Hall. Squad car doors were thrown open as officers flooded out, taking position behind the open doors and cars as they trained their guns on the building. Others went about establishing a perimeter, sealing off the area for police use only.

Moments later, SWAT arrived, their trucks skidding to a stop behind the squad cars. Petit had his door flying open before his ride even came to a complete stop. Springing out, he was striding towards the former office building, gesturing towards his subordinates. "I want a line right here," he indicated towards the front of their makeshift barricade. "No one comes out of the building unless their hands are held high, or restrained."

He then pointed to a couple nearby buildings. "I want snipers up there, the sooner the better. If anyone moves by the windows, they are authorized to fire."

There was an immediate flurry of activity once his orders had been laid down. It hadn't taken very long for word to reach every cop in the city that Bane had launched another attack, this time right at the heart of Gotham's government. The mayor was currently a hostage, or dead at this point.

Right now, Petit had had enough. Bane's commando tactics had gone too far a long time ago and he was emboldened with the GCPD's weak response. Never mind the ammo busts, or even that one ambush they had tried, the fact Bane was still standing despite their efforts had proven they had been ineffectual. It was time for new tactics.

No more was he willing to give this maniac all the time he wanted to solidify his position. If him or any of his boys got in the line of fire, they were dead men, plain and simple. With Petit as the highest ranking officer out here, it fell to him to take charge and take charge he would.

"Where's my SWAT team?!" he barked at a nearby officer, one that was strapped with a flak jacket.

"Almost here, Sir," the man immediately responded. "They're a couple blocks away."

Good. "I want them locked and loaded," he ordered. "Once we're ready, we're going in."

Bright lights suddenly turned on thanks to the spotlight crews. Bright lights appeared on the face of the building, their wide circles moving all over the bricks and windows. This would give his snipers a better view of their targets.

"Bill!" a voice cried out.

Petit turned his head just in time to see Gordon's Mrs. storming towards him. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded as she came to stand in front of him, her red hair whipping about in the breeze that just blew in.

"What does it look like, Gordon? I'm taking charge," he stated the obvious. "We're in a tactical situation and I'm the man for that job."

"Tell you men to stand down," Sarah Gordon ordered. "We don't know what we're dealing with and we shouldn't send SWAT in blind. Not until we get some intel."

"Like hell I will!" Petit threw a hand out to gesture towards City Hall. "That Bane freak has our mayor—probably dead by now. We know that freak is in there; this is our best chance to take him out."

"That isn't your call to make," the redhead spat back. "That's the Commissioner's and Jim is on his way. We wait until he gets here to—"

"Stand down, Gordon," the white-haired man growled. "You are out of your depth here. Your husband is too damn far away to change anything. By the time he gets here, Bane could be long gone. He could take hostages with him, or just murder everyone inside. I'm not going to just sit here and let him do that. Once _my_ men are in place, we're going to kick some ass. Now you're either with me, or against me."

To Sarah's credit, she didn't back down, stealing her features as she held herself straight. "I'm giving you an order, Petit: stand down, or face a suspension."

Petit's eyes blazed with anger. "First off, Lieutenant, _you_ can't make that call. _I'm_ the one that runs SWAT and _I_ make the calls on whether they're deployed or not. The _only_ person that supersedes my authority, is the Commissioner and when he's absent, _I'm_ in charge. That means you couldn't suspend me even if you wanted to. Now get out of my way, Lieutenant, or I'll have you escorted off the perimeter."

"Goddamn it, Bill!" Sarah roared at him. "There are innocent people in there! If we go in now, we're putting them at risk! Can't you see that? I don't care who's got jurisdictional control; the most important thing is that we resolve this without more bloodshed. We need to know how many people are in there, how many are armed, and where they're at. Anything less and we're just killing them!"

"This isn't my first rodeo," Petit snapped back. By then, he caught sight of his SWAT teams hustling through the perimeter, worming their way around the squad cars and trucks as they approached the front. About damn time too. "Now stand aside. It's time to show these sons of bitches we're not taking their shit anymore."

"I'm warning you, Bill," Sarah warned.

"Then considered me warned." By that point, Petit turned his back on Gordon and marched towards the hood of a car, where a couple of his men had placed a blueprint of the office building. "Forget the back doors," he instructed as he began jabbing his finger at various places on the blueprint. "No doubt Bane is expecting us to go in through there, so he'll have them watched. The same goes for the front. I want to go in on the sides. The moment we're in, we regroup on the inside and seal off every conceivable exit. No way are we letting this assholes out of that building alive."

* * *

Blinding lights swept over the windows, moving from one side to the other. Bane stood before one such window, the light moving from his left to his right, not stopping once.

He could see the GCPD was alive with activity. They had arrived just as he expected, forming a perimeter around this building from all sides. He could even see the presence of their tactical teams grouping and planning out their strategies.

They would matter not. No doubt they would be coming through the back. Trip wires had been placed there the moment his forces had seized the building and its occupants. Those traps would stun whatever strike team would attempt it, warning them off for some time. They wouldn't be trying the front since it went without saying how protected that side would be.

That left the sides of City Hall and those would be the likely attack points. It was a classic pincer maneuver and one that would be effective on lesser foes. Bane, on the other hand, wanted the SWAT teams to come in through there. The first signs of minimal patrols would encourage such a move.

That's when he saw them. Like winding, black snakes, the SWAT teams began advancing from the perimeter, doing their best to keep out of sight among the police vehicles. Their efforts mattered not.

Raising a walkie-talkie, Bane spoke, "They are coming. Leave no survivors."

* * *

"Let's go! Let's go!" the captain ordered as SWAT Team Alpha marched to their designated strike point. Team Beta was doing the same on the other side of City Hall and both teams needed to be ready to go for their simultaneous strike.

It was fortunate Petit was in charge and not one of Gordon's flunkies. Regular cops and detectives had no mind for combat scenarios and often allowed a situation to devolve until force was the only option left. That usually created an even deadlier scenario with the bad guys having staked out the best vantage points and ready to meet whatever attack they launched.

Not tonight. They would be striking while the iron was hot. Bane had only been here less than an hour. That wasn't enough time to organize and set up shop.

Team Alpha reached their mark and all of the men came to a stop, facing the side of City Hall. Last minute checks of their weapons were immediately performed, magazines in place, bullet chambers loaded. "Alpha in place," the captain reported into his radio.

A moment later and Team Beta repeated the same. " _Beta in place."_

" _Give 'em hell,"_ Petit immediately responded. " _Green light to SWAT incursion."_

Immediately, the captain hustled towards City Hall, his men hot on his heels. They reached the side entrance door in a matter of seconds, the captain and the next man taking position on either side of the door. The others began to line up behind them save for one, who carried a handheld battering ram. Without breaking stride, he rushed up to the door and swung the battering ram, hitting the door right below the door knob.

Immediately, the lock broke along with the metal paneling, the door swinging inward. The Captain instantly leaned out from his cover, checking his corner before backing off. His opposite did the same, but then darted inside, followed by the Captain. One after the other, Team Alpha slipped into City Hall, checking their corners as they posted themselves up and down the hallway they entered.

The corridor was lit up thanks in part to Bane keeping them on and the GCPD not cutting off the power to the building. A typical tactic was to cut off the electricity in order to sweat the bad guys out and make conditions unbearable. Because they were skipping over the typical hostage negotiations, everything was very much like it was when Bane invaded.

Reaching a doorway, the captain paused long enough for another of his men to station himself on the other side. With a sharp nod to each other, the captain grabbed the door knob and turned it, shoving the door open.

The moment his opposite moved to check his corner, a hail of bullets blasted through the open doorway, hitting the man point blank. The SWAT member cried out as he was thrown backwards, hitting the wall opposite the door, his blood splattering all over the sheetrock.

"Sergio!" the captain cried out just before the wall behind him exploded, bullets ripping through it. Jerking his head around, the captain watched as a trail of bullet holes traveled the whole way down the hallway he had come down, hitting a couple more of his men as others dropped to the floor to avoid the sudden gunfire.

"Return fire!" one of them cried out as the team turned all of their guns on the wall and opened fire. The hallway lit up with flashing light from each fired bullet, the wall itself beginning to crumble as it was blasted into.

Suddenly, that was when the opposite wall was blasted with bullets, their attackers shooting through the wall much like the first one. Team Alpha never saw it coming as a couple more was struck in their backs, causing them to cry out before they fell to the floor.

"Alpha Team's taking fire!" the captain roared into his radio as he took a knee. Grabbing a grenade from his vest, he pulled the pin and tossed it through the open doorway, hearing some cries before an explosion erupted, shaking the hallway, if not the building from the blast. Smoke came rushing through the doorway along with the bullet holes in the wall.

"I repeat, Alpha Team is taking fire!" he repeated on the radio even as he turned to face the other wall and opened fire.

That was when a door further down the corridor swung open, causing the captain to jerk his head in its direction. His stomach dropped as he spotted Bane's men pouring out into the hall, aiming their guns right at the SWAT team.

Jesus Christ, they had walked into an ambush.


	35. Help Unwanted

They had rushed to the scene once they got word of what was going on. Bane, at City Hall, with hostages, and cops with itchy trigger fingers.

Not a good situation to put it mildly.

The Network was currently keeping out of sight of the spotlights the police were using, which put them on a building behind the perimeter they had made. The more experienced vigilantes were crouched by the ledge of the building while the younger ones were further back.

Mere moments ago, they had watched the SWAT team breach the building, disappearing inside. No doubt there was going to be a firefight between the cops and Bane's mercenaries. And since these mercs only had an allegiance to Bane, they would have no issue with putting their hostages in the line of fire.

So yeah, this was a powder keg ready to explode.

" _I've got shots fired,"_ Oracle reported then. She was keeping track of SWAT's progress over the police frequency; that was the first of the transmissions. " _Sounds like...yeah, Bane's men have opened fired."_

"With SWAT firing back too," Manhunter murmured.

There was several moments of silence before, " _Oh geez, Bane's men were waiting for them. They had an ambush set up and SWAT ran right into it."_

"So we get to go in and save their butts," Red Hood summed up, the kid entwining his fingers together before he stretched his arms out as far as he could, causing his knuckles to pop.

"For lack of better words, yeah," Huntress agreed as she shifted her weight on her feet. "But we have to be smart about this. This isn't us going to help these guys; we're probably going to have to fight both sides since Bane will want us dead and the GCPD has made it perfectly clear they'll arrest us on sight."

"We form teams," Black Canary joined in. "From where I'm looking, we'll want one team going through the roof, another through the back, and the other probably from the side. Oracle, which SWAT team is under pressure?"

" _As of right now, the west side team is getting slaughtered,"_ the hacker informed them. " _They managed to radio their status right before the east side team was attacked, so they're holding their own right now. Regardless, both teams need reinforcements."_

"Which means they'll be getting some pretty damn soon," Green Arrow added. "Whoever we send to help those guys needs to be able to get in and get out fast."

"Or maybe the police will be happy for our help?" Spoiler suggested. This caused all of them to look at her, which in turned caused the pink-clad girl to shrink in on herself a bit. "It's just a thought."

"We might have to stay out of sight," Nightwing said then, drawing the attention away from his hopeful student. "If that's the case, we'll need people that can get in and out fast, or attack from a distance and out of sight."

"And if we're going to send a team to the roof, we need people that can scale it quickly," Huntress added in.

"I'll be in the roof group," Red Robin volunteered. "I've got some gear that can get me and someone else up there quick."

"So teams of two?" Manhunter suggested.

"No, three at a minimum," Black Canary responded. "I'll be on the roof team too. I can at least scale the building quickly if Red Robin carries our third."

That was when Nightwing noticed Spoiler shooting her hand up, as if volunteering herself for that team. It hadn't gone unnoticed by him that Spoiler seemed to have a small crush on Tim and that was not something they needed on this mission. "Bluebird can be the third," he suggested, which caused Spoiler's hand to drop to her side moodily.

"Agreed," Black Canary replied.

"Then I'll be on the back team," Manhunter said. "No doubt there will be a lot of fighting back there, so we'll need some firepower there."

"If that's your rationale, then I'll be with you," Huntress responded. "I think between the two of us, we can kick some major ass."

"Oh, I'm totally there," Red Hood jumped in. "We send out best back there to put 'em down."

Immediately, Nightwing was ready to shoot that down. No way was he going to send Jason, their most inexperienced member to the place with heavy gunfire. In fact, he was planning on keeping the kid at his side as best he could. It was no secret he rubbed many of the Network's members wrong.

" _That's a good plan,"_ Oracle said then, stopping him from voicing his objection. " _There's no SWAT team going through the back, so we could surprise both sides with our team going through there."_

That gave him pause. The idea of sending a couple of the heavy hitters in to smash the fighting going on was a promising move. That Red Hood would be protected by both Huntress and Manhunter, along with a minimum amount of bullets coming their way during their breech was their best choice for him.

"That leaves Katana, Spoiler, Green Arrow, and myself in the last time," he then summarized.

That caused Green Arrow to shake his head. "I think we're forgetting something here, guys. What about Bane?"

Immediately, the dark-haired young man was shaking his head. "No way, we're not taking him on head on, especially with the GCPD gunning for us. That's just too much."

"That's not what I'm saying. Bane has joined every fight he's launched. A confrontation with him is inevitable if we let him dictate it. What we need is someone to keep a pair of eyes on him and alert the others to his movement, especially if he's heading to one of our teams. That way we have backup moments away rather than minutes."

"That's not a bad idea," Huntress admitted. "I can—"

"No, you stay with Manhunter and Red Hood," the archer immediately interjected. "If there's anyone of us that can keep themselves protected, it's me."

"Don't go all macho male on us," Manhunter shot back, a scowl on her face. "You're the out-of-towner here. The rest of us live and breathe Gotham."

"But all of you are used to being on teams," he returned, not the least bit affronted by the objection. "I've got more experienced working alone. I have my own city I watch over after all. And if Bane happens to catch wind of me, I can protect myself better than most. I'll watch him."

"I say we do as he says," Red Robin said. "We're running out of time now and there's no telling what's going on in City Hall. Now is the time for us to move in."

Red Robin was right. So Nightwing took charge. "That's fine. Arrow, find Bane and keep us updated on his movements. Canary, Red Robin, and Bluebird, get to the roof and work your way down. Huntress, Manhunter, and Red Hood, do what you do best from the back. Katana, Spoiler, and I will move in to help the west side cops."

"Go team," Red Hood said snarkily.

* * *

Huntress kept a hand on Red Hood's shoulder the moment they reached the back entrance.

There was no sign of activity here, a red flag in her mind. If there was ever a strike point, the back door was usually optimal, if not the most desired. Who wouldn't want to strike the enemy from behind?

Still, there had to be a reason the GCPD hadn't even bothered. There was a slight police presence back here, but it was more for setting the perimeter than anything. Perhaps if Bane's men tried to retreat, they would catch them here.

Manhunter was currently scouting out the area, which left her with the hot head vigilante buzzing with energy. A part of Huntress wondered what possessed Nightwing to let the kid put on a mask in the first place. He was too eager for action, didn't think things through, and had a temper. That was a trifecta of an accident waiting to happen.

Manhunter suddenly appeared next to them, breaking the purple-clad woman out of her thoughts. "The place is booby-trapped out the wazoo," the brunette reported, which caused Huntress to realize why the cops were ignoring this entry point. They wanted in the easiest way they could find and avoiding a deadly trap made sense. However, she could also see Bane wanting this as it reduced the number of fronts he had to watch, not to mention directing the police right where he wanted them to go.

This could work in their favor.

"Which points are covered?" she asked.

"The back door for one. The entire first and second floor windows too. There's a third story window that isn't rigged to blow, but I didn't want to chance it."

Seeing as they were on a rooftop, the dark-haired woman could see the entire third floor from her vantage point. All of the windows were intact and they were tinted so there was no way to determine what was behind them. "Which ones do you suspect are trap-free?"

"The three windows to the right. Those were the only ones I confirmed."

Immediately, Huntress had a H-shaped shuriken in hand. With a flick of her wrist, she sent it whirling through the air. It hit the third window from the right, breaking the glass as it vanished into the room.

For a couple minutes, they wanted, watching the room for any activity. When it became certain no one was checking the room, she then pulled out a two-way grapple. With careful aiming, she fired a line for the window, the grapple claw hitting towards the top of the glass and also disappearing into the room. The other end of the grapple fired a line then, digging into the brick of a nearby roof access.

Sure she had a secure line, she pulled out her cable clip and attached it to the line. From the corner of her eye, she saw Manhunter with hers in hand and Red Hood digging out his own. Without further waiting, she leaped off the roof, zip-lining towards the window. The wind battered at her body as her cape billowed out behind her. At the last moment, she swung her legs in front of her, her feet crashing and shattering the remains of the window. Glass flew all around her as she landed in the empty room, immediately darting towards the door where she positioned herself next to it, back against the wall.

Red Hood came in then, he too getting out of the way as Manhunter followed him a couple moments later. The room itself was an office, though thankfully the cluttered desk hadn't been positioned by the window, instead being by the wall Huntress was currently pressing herself against. There were chairs in front of it, but those were avoided by immediately releasing their cable clip upon entering the room.

"Oracle, we're in," Huntress reported. "We're on the third floor in an empty office. Where's the nearest patrol?"

The computer hacker was quick to respond. " _No bogies close to your location, H. There's a stairwell close by. If you can take that to the second floor, you'll find a group of Bane's men."_

"Roger." Huntress then glanced to the rest of her team before opening the door, poking her head out to make sure they were indeed in the clear, and found they were. Swiftly, she entered the hallway and located a door to a stairwell, which was perhaps a couple door down from the office they had broken into. All the while, she had a shuriken in hand, ready to use it.

Entering the stairwell, she made sure there weren't any of Bane's men here too and found it empty as well. Quickly, she descended to the second floor, Red Hood and Manhunter hot on her heels. Finding the landing for the second floor, again she opened the door and checked the corridor.

"We're on the second floor landing on the stairwell. Where are the targets?" she asked.

It took Oracle another moment to respond. " _Go down the hallway to your right. That'll open into another hall and you should find them."_

Huntress didn't bother responding, instead pulling out her bo staff and flicking the switch to extended it from its retracted state. Manhunter did the same with her borrowed staff while Red Hood held his fists at the ready.

Shoving the door open further, she entered the corridor and took a right, heading down the hall until she found the intersecting one she had been told of. Positioning herself at the corner, she peeked around it and found several of Bane's mercenaries gathered there, their backs to them.

Perfect.

Adjusting her grip on her shuriken, Huntress prepared to rush around the corner and throw it when it occurred to her these guys had machine guns. The distance between her and them was too great to close it quickly and take them down. She needed a distraction, something to confuse them long enough to reach them before they made Swiss cheese out of her.

Glancing back to her team, she eyed Red Hood's empty hands. "Hood," she whispered lowly, "get a smoke pellet ready. When I go in, I want you to throw it right in the middle of these guys."

"They too far away or something?" Red Hood retorted, though his voice was thankfully soft and low too.

"Yeah and they have machine guns. We swallow them up with smoke and they'll be too busy trying to get out of it and leave themselves wide open for us to pummel them."

Immediately, the youth had a smoke pellet in hand. "I got your back."

Huntress just nodded before she checked around the corner again. The men were still in place as if waiting for something, like a signal, or a sign the SWAT team incursion had gotten further than planned she suspected. Carefully she stepped into the hallway before she began picking up her pace. She launched her shuriken for the back of the nearest merc even as a flash of movement from the corner of her eye told her Red Hood had thrown his pellet.

The shuriken struck her target right where she wanted it too against the back of his skull, the merc crying out as he pitched head first forward. Before any of his friends could whip around, a cloud of smoke exploded from within the group, causing them all to shout with alarm.

Red Hood had some good aim, Huntress had to admit, even as she picked up her pace and raced for the growing smoke cloud. She could pick out two of Bane's men stumbling out of the cloud, coughing their lungs up.

A smirk appeared on her face as she leaped into the air, swinging her bo staff up and arching it down for a headstrike. Now came the fun part.

* * *

Green Arrow fired an arrow high into the air, a cord trailing behind it. It disappeared over the edge of the roof, leaving only the cable hanging down the side of the building.

Black Canary grabbed ahold of it and immediately began scaling up the wall. Hand over hand, foot after foot, she climbed up until she reached the top of the building. Shortly after, Green Arrow was on the roof after her.

A couple moments later, Red Robin shot up into the air, Bluebird holding tightly onto him. That incredible cape he wore was spread out much like a bird's feathers. She had to admit it was a nice look for him. She wondered where he got his hands on such a toy, not to mention the rocket boots to propel him up the side of City Hall. Allowing gravity to take hold, the two teens dropped down to the roof, landing on it with a thud.

"Have a nice ride, you two?" Green Arrow greeted them, raising a hand up to tip his hat to them.

"That was incredible!" Bluebird exclaimed as she pulled away from Red Robin, though she didn't go too far. If it weren't for her mask, Black Canary would've said the punk rock girl's eyes were shining. "The propulsion system allowing for maximum liftoff without putting strain on the user's legs coupled with the design of the cape and the electrical system! I could go on about how the electricity aligns the—"

"Whoa there," Arrow interrupted, holding a hand up to stop her. "I can appreciate your zeal there, but that's a conversation for later. You two could turn it into a date."

A scowl appeared on Bluebird's face. "Hey, this is purely professional."

"Yeah, professional," Red Robin murmured in agreement.

"And speaking of which, time to put our game faces on," Canary spoke, drawing all of their attention to her. "You," she pointed at the Emerald Archer, "go find Bane and keep him out of our hair." She then pointed towards Red Robin and Bluebird. "You two, follow me."

Green Arrow gave a salute. "Yes, ma'am." He then turned and jogged off to a different part of the roof, leaving the rest of their group behind.

Glancing about the roof, she spotted a roof access, looking back to her two younger teammates and nodding her head towards it. Without another second of hesitation, she began jogging towards it, the other two following behind her if the sound of their footsteps were any indication. Reaching the access, she took hold of the doorknob and twisted it, opening the door a moment later.

The landing beyond the doorway was empty as well as the set of stairs there after. Entering the small structure, she reached the railing and grabbed onto it, looking down the spiraling downward. No mercenaries or cops that she could see.

"Oracle, what's the status of the upper floors?" she asked as she began descending the staircase, Red Robin and Bluebird right behind her.

She got an answer when she reached the next landing. " _Top floor, there's a few mercs. Looks like they're in position as snipers."_

Then they knew exactly what they had to do. Going down another set of stairs and reaching the doorway to the top floor, Canary was careful to open it, checking the small hallway for threats and spotting a couple of mercs further down the corridor. They had rifles in hand, one keeping it at his side while the other was taking aim out of a window.

Leaning back into the stairwell, Canary made a gesture with her hand, extending her fingers out and pointing each one to her eyes. She then held them up, indicating that she saw two targets. She then folded the fingers together and pointed to the right, IDing their direction.

Red Robin placed a hand on Bluebird's shoulder while raising his other with one of his birdarangs. The blonde woman gave a sharp nod before she slowly pushed the door open, entering the hallway, holding the door open. Bluebird had her taser gun raised, the butt of the weapon pressed against her shoulder as she took aim. Red Robin inched into the corridor right after her, holding his birdarang up.

Quick as a whip, Red Robin threw his projectile, sending it sailing through the air. It flew down the hallway, arching inward slowly, where it collided with the back of the head of the merc aiming his rifle. His body lunged forward, damn near going out the open window. He would have if his friend hadn't shot his hands out to grab ahold of him.

That's when Bluebird fired her taser, the electric blast hitting the standing merc in the back. Immediately, his body went stiff, along with his comrade. The moment Bluebird released her trigger, both men dropped to the floor, smoke wafting from their bodies.

"That's two down," Black Canary said after awhile. "Only a hundred left to go."

* * *

The corridor was empty, dimly lit by the lights overhead. With an arrow notched to his bow, the arrowhead pointed to the floor, Green Arrow quietly stalked down the hallway, all of his senses on high alert.

He had had a few close calls already, though it was no fault of his own. He had come across a couple of Bane's men on just as many instances, thankfully alone each time. Putting them in choke holds until they fell unconscious had been easy.

The top floor had given him nothing. Bane was clearly not on it considering he checked every hallway, every room, and every corner. So he was on the floor below, staking it out.

The green-clad man came to a sudden stop. Around the upcoming corner, he could hear voices. They were staying about the same, so that meant whomever was speaking was staying in the same place. Edging towards the corner, Green Arrow soon pressed his back up against the wall next to it, slowly inching his head to peek around it.

He found a much shorter hallway, which opened up into another one that ran parallel to the one the archer was in. There were more lights in the other corridor, but no sign of the source of the voices.

Then he heard footsteps and he leaned back slightly. The voices grew louder until he could pick out what was being said.

"The SWAT teams are losing ground, if not already lost it," one voice reported. "We have one pinned down and soon to be exterminated. The other team is holding their ground, but we're starting to overtake them."

"What of the outside?" a clearly Hispanic-accented voice responded. Green Arrow narrowed his eyes as he recognized that voice belonging to Bane.

"The usual activity, but I have managed to hack into their radio frequencies. It appears they are about to launch a second offensive."

"Will we be able to fend them off?"

"If we can fully eliminate the first wave, then yes, we should be able to hold off the second. However, if the second wave reinforces the current numbers, it may prove more difficult."

"Then it is time for the next phase. Order the rockets."

The footsteps grew louder, meaning they were coming closer. "And where are we going?"

"To reinforce our own ranks. Bring the mayor. He may prove valuable to our cause."

That's when Bane appeared in Green Arrow's sight. The hulk was just as ominous as usual, appearing from beyond one corner and just as quickly vanishing past the other. Right behind him on either side were his two lackey's, Zombie and Bird, the former being the one speaking to Bane the entire time. A few more of Bane's men followed them, surrounding a restrained Mayor Hady, who looked as if he had seen better days, what with his hair a rumpled mess and his clothes clinging to him at odd angles.

Already, Green Arrow was worried. It was clear Bane had been anticipating everything the GCPD was throwing at him. Now he was moving onto his next phase, whatever that entailed. He held his position, even though he knew he needed to keep up with Bane's group.

But he also needed to alert the others as to what Bane was planning. Being this close might get him overheard. It was clear Bane had a destination in mind, so it wouldn't be too hard for him to catch up again.

Or so he hoped.

"Oracle," he pretty much hissed into his comm link. "I got some intel on Bane. He's calling in the use of rockets to use on the GCPD. I can't stop them and keep track of Bane at the same time."

There was a moment's silence before Oracle responded to him. " _You stay with Bane,"_ she told him. " _I'll get ahold of one of the other teams and get them to find the rocket launchers. Keep feeding me intel on what Bane's planning."_

"You got it. Just so you know, he's hanging onto Hady. It sounds like he has some plan for the guy. I'll keep you posted."

Cutting off the link, Green Arrow then hurried down the short hallway, doing his best to keep as quiet as he could. Reaching the end of it and positioning himself right next to the corner, he peeked around it and caught the backside of Bane's entourage towards the end of the hallway. Good they hadn't gone too far.

Now it was time to see how long it took them to realize they were being hunted.

* * *

With a running leap, Nightwing's foot pressed down against the wall, his leg bending before he sprung off of it. With a fist drawn back, the vigilante threw it, slamming his fist into a mercenary's face. The man cried out as he stumbled backwards.

A moment later and a birdarang whirled by Nightwing's head and collided with the same mercenary's forehead. His head snapped back, throwing him off balance as he fell to land on his back on the floor. Fortunately he didn't even so much as twitch.

That was when a blur of red and yellow raced by the male vigilante. There was a flash of steel and Katana's sword sliced right through the barrels of the next two mercs. The separated barrels flew through the air, the two men backing a step away more out of instinct than actual fear.

Unfortunately, the severed barrels weren't damaging enough to render the guns inoperable. Darting forward, Nightwing took to the air again, using their moment of hesitation against them. Flinging his feet up above his head as he went into a flip, the moment he was over the two men, he shot his hands down and grabbed each man by the sides of their heads. Quickly, he cracked their skulls together, knocking them out cold. Nightwing completed his flip, his feet touching down on the floor at the same time as the two mercs did.

While the dark-haired man had been expecting to face some resistance, if not the entirety of Bane's army, he hadn't expected it to be so soon. The SWAT team that had been sent here was all by decimated, leaving perhaps a couple men being pounded by a larger, heavily armed force.

That's where they entered.

Their strategy was simple. Katana and he would take the mercs on in close quarters while Spoiler stayed out of sight and used long-distance weapons. Obviously it was working.

"Is that all of them?" Nightwing asked as he looked around.

Katana was straightening out her posture, holding her sword at her side as she surveyed the hallway. "I believe so," she responded after awhile.

That's when Spoiler appeared, hurrying over to the two of them. Stepping over and around the dead officers and unconscious mercs, she only paused a couple times to pick up a birdarang lying discarded on the floor. "Where do we go now?" she asked as she came to stand next to Katana.

"We press forward," Nightwing responded as he began to turn away from the two women. That was his plan at least, right up until he heard a door open. Looking back and in between Katana and Spoiler, he could make out shadows dancing against the wall at the end of the corridor.

A moment later and more SWAT officers appeared, the beams from their laser-guided sights darting all over the place. "I've got three bogies," the first man said as he held his rifle up at his shoulder. "Safeties off."

Alarms were blaring in Nightwing's head. In an instant, he lunged towards Spoiler, wrapping his arms around her before he dove through an open doorway. Katana went in the other direction, taking cover in the room across the hall from theirs just before the sound of machine gun fire erupted.

Landing on the floor with his shoulder, Nightwing rolled onto his back, stopping even as Spoiler laid on top of him. He was quick to push her off of him and thankfully the pink-clad girl was able to get ont0 her feet, though she was looking right at the doorway, pieces of the door frame chipping off as bullets collided with it. "What's going on?" she cried out as she backed away towards the far wall.

Nightwing wanted to know the same thing even as he scrambled onto his feet. Sure, he was expecting the cops to arrest them, but he hadn't expected them to open fire. That was a drastic change in tactics and a dangerous one at that.

"You okay, Katana?" he asked over his comm link.

It took a moment before he received a response. " _I am."_

That was something at least. "Oracle, we have a situation," he then reported.

" _What? What is it now?"_ Oracle snapped, which caused Nightwing to raise an eyebrow. Where was this short temper coming from?

"It looks like the cops are gunning for us. We're—"

Nighting stopped abruptly. He could hear them, footsteps. SWAT was right outside the doorway, doing God knows what. "Can't talk now," he whispered into the comm link as he dropped his hand from his ear.

He was just in time too as a small canister came bouncing in. It clattered across the floor, spewing out a thick smoke. Nightwing's eyes widened. SWAT was either trying to smoke them out, or blind them so that they could make Swiss cheese out of him and Spoiler.

Instantly, he kicked the can, sending it sailing back out of the room. Thankfully it didn't go into the room Katana had ducked into, instead ricocheting off the corner of the door frame and bouncing into the hallway. There were several cries of surprise as smoke began wafting in greater amounts beyond the doorway.

"Oracle, I need a way out of this room now!" Nightwing hollered into his comm link.

" _Working on it,"_ the hacker responded immediately. That wasn't the response he had been hoping for; he had been wanting to hear that she had one and was giving directions right then and there.

Thankfully, she didn't take but a couple seconds. " _Above your head, there should be a ventilation grate. Pry it off and get in. You should be able to crawl over their heads while they're getting ready."_

Nightwing didn't bother correcting Oracle about the SWAT team's current status of choking on their own smoke cloud. Instead, he located the vent she was talking about, finding it dead center in the ceiling. Spotting a desk, he hurried over to it and grabbed it, dragging it along the floor until it was right beneath the grate. Climbing on top of it, he was able to reach the grating and grabbed ahold of it.

Now, there came a problem. Right now, all he wanted to do was rip the cover off and get the hell out of that room. However, that would tell the SWAT team exactly where he and Spoiler were and all they would do was find where the ventilation duct went and fire into it. So to give them a head start, he needed to not damage the grate too bad, but that would cost them time they may not have.

Pulling on the grate slowly, but with increasing strength with every passing second, he managed to pull the grate right off its frame. Lowering it down, he then gestured for Spoiler to join him, which she quickly did, climbing onto the desk. Cupping his hands he held them low enough for the girl to put her foot in, then hoisted her up into the ventilation shaft. The pink-clad vigilante slipped into the shaft as fast as she could.

Kneeling, Nightwing then grabbed onto the vent cover and then leaped up into the vent. Finding that the shaft went in two different directions, the vigilante was able to maneuver himself inside, slipping his head and one arm on one side, then awkwardly pulling his legs in, then extending them down in the opposite direction. This allowed his other arm to dangle below him while holding onto the grate.

Once he was inside, he pulled the covering up and put it back in place. It wasn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but it was clinging to the vent. Looking up, he saw Spoiler further down the shaft, shuffling down it on all fours. Immediately, he began crawling after her.

"Oracle, Spoiler and I are in the ventilation system," he whispered. "Katana was in another room. Can you help us regroup?"

" _Already on it,"_ came the response, much to his relief. " _You two keep following your shaft for the time being. Tell me when you're in a safe location. If anything changes, I'll tell you."_

Nightwing nodded even though the computer hacker couldn't see him. "Be sure to tell the others the cops will be targeting them too. They're shooting to kill."

There was a long silence before he heard a sigh. " _Consider it done."_ Then she added under her breath, " _What are those guys thinking?"_

He still heard her question thanks to her mike catching her words. Nightwing had the same question actually, but he was going to worry about that later. For now, he needed to catch up with Spoiler, rendezvous with Katana, then make a new plan. Fighting Bane and his men alone was not an option anymore.


	36. Save The Mayor!

Well, looks like we've hit a couple milestones. With this chapter, _Clash of a Hundred Demons_ becomes the longest story of my and AV's series, while also becoming the most reviewed of the Batman stories. There's still some story left, though we are on the home stretch, so we'll see just how many more words we can get on this one. On a related note, this has also becomes my longest posted story as well.

Hope everyone continues to enjoy this story

* * *

" _Canary, we've got trouble."_

"What's going on?" Black Canary immediately asked, coming to a halt in the hall, a hand pressed against the comm link in her ear.

" _Bane's sending a bunch of his men to the roof. They're carrying your choice in explosive weapons: rocket launchers, grenade launchers, etc. They're going to blow up as much of the GCPD as they can."_

"We'll stop them," the blonde vigilante promised as she turned to face her younger comrades. "Change in plans, we need to head back to the roof. Bane's moving some serious hardware up there and a lot of people are going to die if we don't stop them."

"No pressure," Bluebird muttered as she adjusted her grip on her taser rifle.

Black Canary didn't bother to respond to that as she began making her way back to the stairwell before a thought occurred to her. Chances were Bane's men would be using the elevators to move their weapons. If there was a way to slow them down, it was to take out the elevators. And lo and behold, she had a genius electrician with her.

"Bluebird, we need to shut down the elevators. That way we can slow them down by forcing them to climb the stairs. That's where we'll take them down."

"On it," the blue-haired girl replied as she surged forward, passing the other two vigilantes as she went in search of the elevators. Reaching an intersecting hallway, she stopped by it, peeked around the corner, then disappeared into it.

"I'll go watch the stairs," Red Robin volunteered then. "Bluebird will need someone watching her back while she works on the elevators."

"Good idea." That's when Red Robin took off the down the hallway as well, but unlike Bluebird he kept going straight. Black Canary quickly went to the corridor Bluebird had taken and entered it herself. She picked up her pace, checking each hallway she came to and going down the ones she spotted Bluebird in. Eventually, she caught up with the girl just as she reached the elevators.

Immediately, Bluebird was on one knee, prying open the panel door that the up and down buttons were on. The moment she succeeded, a circuit board with wires all over the place came into view. Not the least bit deterred, Bluebird was rifling through the wires until she found the ones she wanted. Pulling out a pair of wire strippers from her belt, she singled out a blue wire and a yellow wire, placing them within the stripper and cut the colored insulation. The moment the copper wiring was exposed, she then cut the wires then twisted the frayed ends, the blue ones with a yellow ones. She then released those wires and went after a red and black pair, doing the same thing to them.

"That should stop the elevators," Bluebird said out loud as she continued to work, locating a white wire and a green wire. As she stripped the wires and then cut them, she continued to narrate, "And this should put them under lockdown." She then paused as she looked at the circuit board. Reaching into the panel, she began to fiddle with one of the circuits, prying it off the board. "Communications are down, so if there's anyone on board, they won't be able to use the phone nor can anyone outside speak through the speaker."

"What about the other elevators?" Black Canary asked as she glanced around them, making sure there weren't any of Bane's men stalking around a corner. "Surely there are more elevator shafts in this building."

"You're right." Bluebird stared into the panel, her eyes searching for something specific rather than dumbly. She then reached to her belt and pulled out a handheld device, one Canary wasn't sure what its purpose was for. Pulling out a cord from the device, she then inserted it into what looked like a phone jack port. Turning on her device, Bluebird began turning a knob on its side, staring at a screen on the device's face.

"There we are," the blue-haired girl said after awhile. There were a few buttons below the screen, looking very much like a dial pad for a phone. The blue-clad vigilante's fingers danced over the keys, inputting something. "I'm sending out an emergency signal through the operation program for the other elevators. This should lock them down as well, though it can be reversed a little faster than what I did to this one."

"That'll have to do," Black Canary said as she patted the younger vigilante's shoulder. "We need to regroup with Red Robin." She then pressed a button on her comm link. "Oracle, Bluebird just shut down the elevators. Let the others know."

After that, the two women made their way through the maze of hallways until they reached Red Robin, who was standing guard by the door to the stairwell. He had the door cracked open, his ear hovering by the door frame as he listened intently for something.

"I don't know what you two did, but it worked," he told them as the two reached him. "I just started hearing Bane's men on the stairwell and they don't sound happy."

"Just the way we want them." Black Canary edged towards the doorway. "Bluebird, I want you up on the next landing. Snipe as many guys as you can. I'll work my way downward to make sure they don't get to you. Red, do whatever you can to take out as many as you can. Watch each other's backs and don't get hurt."

There were sharp nods in response, the only one Black Canary was looking for. Without hesitating, she pushed the cracked door open further and slipped into the stairwell, Bluebird immediately following and climbing the stairs next to them. Red Robin was right behind her then, slowly closing the door behind them before joining her at the railing.

The sound of footsteps clomping down on the steps filled the stairwell, voices speaking in Spanish mingling to make a cacophony of noise. It was growing louder due to Bane's men closing the distance between them, or possibly more men entering the stairwell. Canary knew which option she preferred.

"I'm ready when you are," Red Robin whispered to the blonde, who only gave a sharp nod in response. Patiently they waited until the men were down on the next level.

That was when Black Canary began descending down the stairs, keeping close to the wall. She needed as much surprise on her foes as possible. She heard the sound of Red Robin firing his grapple gun up to the ceiling, though it was a softer noise then the louder bang she was used to. Because it was softer, it was lost in the shuffling of Bane's men.

The moment Canary reached the landing, she spied the tops of Bane's men's heads as they reached the next one, moving to begin mounting the next set of steps. With a long stride, the blonde vigilante leaped from her landing, soaring through the air as she leaned backwards and extended a leg out in front of her, the other bent at the knee. Her foot rammed right into the face of the first man, covering up his surprised look with her boot.

The force of the flying kick sent the man flying backwards, dropping the end of the wooden crate he was carrying. His back crashed into his friend, dropping both of them to the floor and sending their cargo crashing on top of the steps and sliding down them to the landing.

Black Canary was sure to land with her feet on either side of the two fallen mercenaries. Landing on top of them was a sure recipe for twisting an ankle, something she didn't need at the moment. A quick glance down told her both men were out for the count, so she stepped over them and turned to face the next couple.

As luck would have it, only one man had reached the landing while the other was still on the stairs, the crate held between them tilted downward. Startled by her appearance, the man on the landing grabbed onto the railing to keep himself from falling backwards, a moment of hesitation she wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of.

At least that's what she intended. Before she could act, a blast of electricity hit the railing by the merc's hand, sending bolts of electricity raising into his hand and up his arm. Instantly, the man went stiff from the shock, his eyes bulging, and teeth clenching.

Moving towards them, Black Canary went in low, swinging a low kick that knocked the feet out from beneath the man, causing him to fall awkwardly and let go of the handle to the crate he was holding. His head collided with the railing knocking him out cold and finally causing his hand to release the railing as he dropped to the floor. That is, his upper body ended up on the landing as his legs sprawled down the stairs behind him.

This entire exchange put the full weight of the wooden crate on the merc still on the stairs. With one end of the crate landing on one of the steps, the man tried to adjust his balance even as arms dropped down with the crate. To adjust his balance, he leaned backwards, which wasn't a good idea while standing on stairs. Eyes widening, the man fell backwards, screaming as he landed on the stairs and stumbled the rest of the way down to the next landing.

That was when Red Robin went zooming down the space created by the winding staircase. He had a pair of birdarangs in his other hand, but that was all Black Canary saw as she began climbing down the next set of stairs. She heard a couple more cries, which were followed by another wooden crate crashing down on the stairs, the blonde vigilante certain that Red Robin had struck his targets.

Continuing her descent, Black Canary activated her comm link. "How many more do you see, Red Robin?"

" _Looks like...three more teams with boxes. I'm_ — _whoa! Hold on!"_

Black Canary slowed down her descent, her eyes darting to the grapple cable. She could see it shaking, a dry rustling sound being made before Red Robin shot up into her sight. The sound of gunfire rang out, explaining why he had cut himself short. As he rose higher into the air, he let go of the grapple even as he swung his legs forward, creating enough momentum to fling himself onto the set of stairs the blonde vigilante was standing on. Immediately, she shot her hands out to catch and help steady him as he landed.

"As I was saying," Red Robin said, acting as if what he had done wasn't a big deal. "Six men total making three pairs with boxes. They're armed obviously."

"Obviously," Black Canary responded with sarcasm in her voice.

That's when the blonde vigilante heard footsteps and jerked her head to look up the stairs. Bluebird had caught up with them, leaned over the railing while aiming her taser gun and fired. There was another scream and the girl leaned back out of sight from the machine gunfire that suddenly began pelting the area she had been standing in. "Make that five," she said right before there was the loud banging sound of someone or something—possibly both—hitting the floor. "Possibly four."

 _Almost there._ Once she was sure Red Robin had his footing, Black Canary stepped back away from him. "We better go check," she said as she moved around the red-clad vigilante. Hopefully, they only had four more men to take care of, though if the resistance they had met so far was any indication, the rest of the mercs wouldn't be much trouble.

* * *

Red Hood had made sure he was on a team of badasses. Huntress was up ahead, a hand on either side of two of Bane's mercenaries and was cracking their skulls against each other. Ahead and to the left was Manhunter, who was facing towards him, a hand on a merc's wrist and the other at his belt. The merc was above her, practically lying on her back as she forced him over her shoulder and into a faceplant on the floor.

Yeah, these ladies were kickass.

So why was it he was stuck in the back?

Red Hood could feel himself getting irritated. Every since they busted in through the backdoor, Huntress and Manhunter had been leading the charge, all but blocking him off from the action. Yeah, he got his shot at a couple of mercs, but they were mostly guys the other two had left in their wake and he had made sure they stayed down.

Seeing an opening between the two women, Red Hood darted between them, squeezing his arms as close to his body so that he passed them without hitting them. Having to make sure his feet stomped on the floor rather than awkwardly on an unconscious body was tough, but he did it. Passing right by Huntress as she was dropping the two concussed mercs from her hands, Red Hood made a beeline for the next one, who was raising his machine gun towards him.

There was a flash of metal and one of those weird throwing stars Huntress used came flying by the charging teen, colliding with the merc's gun and knocked it cleanly out of his hands. The man cried out as he shot his hands to clutch at them, leaving him wide open for while Red Hood jumped the remaining distance between them. With a fist drawn back, he threw it, slamming it into the guy's face, causing it to snap to a side.

Feet landing on the floor, Red Hood immediately raised his fists up to assume a boxing pose. Immediately, he began throwing jabs, alternating with each fist as he popped the guy over and over in the face and chest. It was like he was a machine, just pounding the guy.

And then the merc shot an arm up and blocked one of his jabs. Immediately, he swung a punch at Red Hood, who also blocked it in turn. Instantly, he clinched the hand of his blocking arm, fingers curling like talons as he exposed his palm. Tilting his arm down, he then shot his hand forward, slamming his palm into the man's face and pushing him backwards a step.

Moving forward himself, Red Hood then swung a leg forward, kicking out the forward foot of the merc, causing him to stumble back further. Bringing both of his hands up above his head, he clasped them together tightly. Lunging forward he then swung them down, landing a jackhammer blow to the merc's face and finally knocked the man off his feet, where he landed on the floor hard.

Red Hood sucked in a deep breath as he stared at the guy until he was sure he wouldn't be getting back up. By then, Manhunter had shot by him, heading for another merc up ahead. As he followed the brunette with his eyes, he noticed there weren't that many mercs left in his hallway. They were almost done here.

He took another deep breath. Alright, it was time to suck it up and show these women just what he was made of. As he began to move forward something else caught his eye. Looking down, he found one of the machine guns the mercenaries were using.

Now there was something he hadn't given much thought to, but he was starting to wonder now of all times. For some reason, these vigilantes, or Network—whatever they wanted to call themselves—didn't use guns. They went to all of this effort to beat people down, refusing to kill them. All of that work seemed pointless when there were guns ready and willing to be used.

So why weren't they using guns?

Every thug, or punk, or gangster, or mercenary they put down was only temporary. Guns would make sure these guys never threatened anyone ever again. Hell, they wouldn't have to worry about them waking up while the fight was still going on. With everything that was going on, they couldn't afford scruples.

That's when he heard a lot of noise, causing his head to snap up. At the end of the hallway, more mercs were appearing, reinforcing the group that had been taken out. Jesus! There were a ton of them! Immediately dropping his eyes back to the gun, then up, then down again, he made a choice.

Dropping down to his knees, he snatched the gun up, pulling out the magazine to check if there were bullets in it, finding there were. Shoving the clip back in and grabbing onto the knob to reset the bullet chamber, he then took aim with the gun and opened fire.

Immediately, the mercs dove back into the intersecting hallway at the end of the hall, though a couple weren't as lucky as they took bullets to their legs and knees. The two men fell to the floor as they cried out, clutching at their bullet-ridden legs. Manhunter had managed to avoid the shots as she threw herself against the wall, pressing her back up against it as hard as she could.

Suddenly, the gun was ripped out of Red Hood's hands, stopping his firing. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Huntress roared as she hovered over him with fury. Red Hood wasn't able to answer her, not that he would. How dare she stop him from taking out those bad guys!

However, his indignation wasn't the reason he didn't respond. Instead it was the mercs at the end of the hallway darting back in and open fired with their own guns. Their return fire didn't last very long as Manhunter had pulled out what looked like a hockey puck from her belt and threw it at the mercenaries, the puck landing right by their feet.

Suddenly, a bright flash and a deafening _BANG!_ rang out. Red Hood squeezed his eyes out of reflex, though the protective lens of his mask actually protected his eyes pretty damn well. His ears weren't so lucky as the bang left a ringing in them, causing him to feel as if he had no balance at all. If it weren't for him kneeling on the floor, he was sure he would've fell over.

He felt a hand grab onto his shoulder and squeeze it tightly. Looking up, he saw the hand belonged to Huntress as she used him to balance herself. Bitch, after what she did, what gave her the right to use him like a wall? He would have shrugged her hand away, but her fingers were damn near digging into his shoulder joint.

In the meantime, Manhunter was taking advantage of the time her flashbang grenade had bought her, the brunette flying down the rest of the distance between her and the mercenaries. She vanished around one corner, was there for perhaps several seconds before she darted back to the other side. This time, he saw a mercenary go flying through the intersecting corridor, appearing out from one corner, sailing through the air, and disappearing around the other corner.

That was when the ringing in Red Hood's ears seemed to grow louder and with greater intensity, causing the teen to wince. But then, the ringing began to break up and his hearing started to return to normal. Shaking his head, he began to get up, only to feel himself be forced back down to his knees.

Jerking his head up, he caught sight of the murderous look on Huntress' face and he realized that the purple vigilante wasn't using him to balancing herself—she was purposefully holding him down to the floor.

What the fuck?!

"What the hell are you doing?!" he demanded heatedly as he shot up onto his feet, rolling his shoulder to remove her hand from it as the muscles in his legs proved to be far stronger than her one arm.

"That's my question, Hood," Huntress shot back as she continued to loom over him. Damn it, she was tall. "Why did you use a goddamn gun?"

"Because they are!" He threw a hand out to the unconscious mercenaries on the floor. "Because they're not afraid to stop people with them!"

"They aren't trying to stop anyone. They're trying to kill people, plain and simple. That's the only thing these weapons are good for."

"You can use guns and not kill people," he retorted. He then gesture to the two men he had shot, who were still writhing around on the floor. Manhunter was walking by them at that point and purposefully kicked them both in the head, one at a time, to knock them out. "As you can see."

"And what about me?" Manhunter spoke up then as she moved towards them. "You could have hit me when you fired."

"Then maybe you shouldn't be in front of me, Manhunter."

"She had her back to you," Huntress seethed as she got up into the teen's personal space, which forced him to back a step away from her. "She had no idea you even had a gun, not to mention you didn't bother warning her, you reckless little shit!"

"But she's perfectly fine!" Red Hood shouted back. "You think I don't know how to fire a gun? Everyone in my neighborhood has one! You practically have to be an expert with one if you're going to survive! As you can see, I'm a damn good shot!"

"That isn't the point," Manhunter said before she reached a hand up to her comm link. "Oracle, this is Manhunter. We're pulling back."

Oracle didn't waste a moment to answer her if Manhunter's next words were any indication. "We had an incident and it's best that we get out. We'll explain later." She then looked to Huntress. "Let's get the gun expert out of here before he kill someone."

"You have to be fucking kidding me!" Red Hood exploded. "This is a war we're in! There's going to be fucking casualties. There already are. You can't pull us out when Bane is somewhere around here, not when we have a chance to stop him!"

"And we're not going to place anyone in harm's way to do it," Huntress responded. "Our safety is just as important if not more so than taking Bane down. Now let's get out of here. We're going to have a long talk with Nightwing about this."

Red Hood clenched his hands tightly into fists, even as the two bitches forced him to march back the way they came. Who the fuck did they think they were? No wonder they were losing this war. If they were purposefully handicapping themselves even after all the evidence that showed it wasn't working, then he really needed to reconsider this Network thing.

And he would be expressing those thoughts at this upcoming meeting.

* * *

With heavy footsteps, Bane led the way down the hallway, his men keeping Gotham mayor behind him.

Like moths to the flame, the GCPD had come roaring in, only for their initial charge to be shredded into bloody pieces. Soon, unholy fire would be raining down on them in the form of explosives. A decisive blow would be delivered, leaving the police weakened and primed for a final stroke. An added bonus was the capture of the Mayor, originally only useful as bait, but the possibilities for his use multiplied the longer he had the man in his custody.

Coming up to an intersecting hallway, Bane noticed a large, round mirror positioned high up the wall, directly across from the mouth of the approaching hall. Eyeing it, the large man immediately stopped, holding up a hand to sign to his men to halt as well. A distorted image of men in black were creeping down the hallway, approaching the same intersection as the masked man was.

"Stay close," he whispered as he slowly crept to the corner of the intersecting hallway. Bird and Zombie were right behind him as well as his men keeping Hady quiet and pushed up against the wall. Peeking around the corner, Bane immediately identified the GCPD's SWAT team.

So, some had managed to get this far.

He then held up his hand again, holding three fingers up. He then made a fist with the same hand before he beat it against his chest, indicating all three men were his. His eyes darted from new corridor to the mirror and back over and over to make sure he knew where the approaching men were and if they had used the same mirror to locate him.

The moment the first officer reached the hallway's mouth, Bane whipped out in front of him. With a raised fist, he slammed it right into the side of the man's head, the force of the blow sending him headfirst into the wall, his helmeted skull breaking right through the sheetrock and left him hanging limply from the hole he had created.

Keeping his arm crossed over his body, Bane bent it at the elbow, making it more prominent as he lunged forward. Due to the second SWAT officer jerking the barrel of his gun up to better target the masked man's head, Bane was able to get his elbow beneath the barrel and forced it up higher, the first shots firing up into the roof rather than his face. With his other fist, he drove it right into the man's stomach, knocking the air right out of his lungs as he gasped.

Drawing his fist back, he again rammed it into his foe's abdomen, but this time he pushed upward, lifting the man up off the ground. Moving his other arm from holding up the gun barrel, his hand grabbed onto the strap of the SWAT officer's body armor and he held the man up like a human shield, surging forward as he rushed to the last police officer.

He head gunshots, but none hit him due to bad aim, or the fact the bullets hit the SWAT officer he held. Either way, Bane rammed his human shield into the last standing officer, knocking him off his feet. Letting go of his shield, Bane pulled back his charge and watched both men drop to the floor. Moving once more, he reached the two men and knelt down, wrapping his hands around each man's neck. Standing back up, he raised both men up into the air, holding them there as their legs dangled beneath them. Squeezing his hands as tightly as possible, he choked both men, their wet, gargling gasps pouring out of their mouths until there were twin snapping sounds. Both men went limp before Bane dropped them to the floor as dead corpses.

"Move out!" he shouted, which caused his entourage to emerge from their cover, Bird and Zombie leading the group with guns and knives in their respective hands. Leading them once more, Bane headed down the hallway until suddenly more SWAT officers appeared out of seemingly random doors along the hallway, freezing at the sight of him.

Unlike the first three men, there were quite a few more this time, which created more opportunity for him to be shot. This would simply not do. Hitting the Venom button on his left forearm, he could feel the effects of the serum the moment he began picking up his pace, Bane growing larger and larger as he began flat out running at the men, arms pumping at his sides until he practically filled the entire corridor with his frame. "Stay on me!" he ordered over his shoulder, as he quickly closed the distance between him and the black-clad officers.

Just before he reached the first SWAT man, Bane extended both of his arms out as far as they could reach, his fists punching into the sheetrock of the walls. Not bringing them back, he tore long, gaping holes in the walls. Though this slowed his pace down a step, it allowed him to cause the police officers to hesitate a second longer than they could afford.

His large body rammed into the first man, trampling him as he ran him over, the officer crying out beneath Bane's feet. He continued like a freight train, running over and clotheslining the policemen. None stood a chance as his feet trampled them, crushing limb, ribs, and organs with every footstep.

Reaching the end of the hallway and entering an intersecting hall, Bane found more SWAT officers to his left and right, two armed men standing on either side of him. Bane crossed his dust and debris-covered arms over his chest before he swung them both out, delivering backhand blows to either man's head and/or face. The force of his twin blows sent both men flying down their respective corridor, colliding with more SWAT officers and knocking them down to the floor.

That's when Bird appeared at his left and Zombie at his right. Immediately, Bird was firing his pistols at the fallen SWAT officers while Zombie was throwing his knives with uncanny accuracy, killing the officers where they laid.

Bringing his arms back up and crossing them in front of his face, Bane charged once more, slamming himself into the wall in front of him and bursting right through it. Increasing his pace, his ignored the room he was in and run into the next wall, crashing through it and leaving another hole in his wake.

He did not stop; he would not stop; he wouldn't stop until he had reached a safe location, for him and his hostage. The increasing number of the SWAT team had caught his attention and he needed a moment to reconsider his current plan.

Crashing into another room, Bane slowed to a stop, and slowly turned to look behind him. Ignoring the countless holes he had left in his wake, he saw his mercenaries entering the room with Gotham's mayor in toll. They slowed to a stop, then forced Hady to move to a side and out of view of anyone that deemed it a good idea to look down the series of destruction.

Zombie and Bird came jogging in a moment later. "Nice work, Bane," Bird complimented him. "Now what?"

"Now we move down floors," Bane responded. "These upper levels are becoming filled with the enemy. We must regroup with our forces on the lower floors."

"Great idea. How are we supposed to get there without any stairs or elevators?" the Gothamite asked. "I don't see any here and I'm not sure where they keep them here."

"We ask our informant," Zombie replied for Bane, his dead eyes looking right at Hady, who was shrinking in on himself. "Tell us, Mayor Hady, where are the nearest stairs and elevators?"

"I-I-I…" the Mayor sputtered before swallowing deeply. "The other side of the building. There's a set of stairs in the southwest corner, but I think we're in the southeast one. I think."

"Then let's burrow our way there," Bird said.

"I have a better idea," Bane responded.

Raising a foot up, Bane then slammed it down on the floor with as much force as his Venom-infused limp could muster. This had the result of the floor caving beneath his foot, the large man backing up just before the ground beneath his other foot gave in. Soon, there was a large hole in the floor, the remains of tile and cement crashing down on the level below.

"Or we could do that," Bird said dumbly, eyes blinking owlishly. "Who goes first?"

"You do." With a hand, Bane reached out and pressed it against Bird's back. With ease, he shoved the blond-haired man forward and into the hole, causing him to cry out as he fell to the floor below.

* * *

It was a bit awkward, but coming out of the ventilation without making too much noise had been quite the effort and took perhaps way too much time than it should have. After letting Spoiler slip out, Nighting did his best to put the grating back on so as not to tip off anyone that that was what they had used.

Okay, now to find Katana and finish this regrouping. They needed to plan out their next move and quickly. They were stuck between Bane's rock and SWAT's hard place and they needed not only a way out of it, but a means to, you know, save the day. That was what they were here to do.

As it turned out, the two of them didn't need to go far because Katana found them first, slipping in through a door and closing it so quietly that neither of the two Batclan members had heard her. However, Nightwing wasn't about to complain; it saved them the hassle of trying to find out.

"Cops giving you trouble?" he asked.

Katana gave a sharp nod, not needing to say anything else.

"Everyone should know by now, so we need to—" the only male vigilante in the room began to speak when he was interrupted by the sound of the ceiling caving in.

Or to be more accurate, a portion of the ceiling caved in towards the door where Katana had first entered. The Asian vigilante was darting out of the way of the falling debris, and Nightwing was on full alert, muscles tense as he waited for anything to happen.

What happened was a man fell through the hole, landing on his feet, but then collapsed to the floor on his side. The sight of him reminded the former acrobat of a lion tamer. That's what the blond-haired man looked like to him, anyway, what with the black pants and the red vest over a white shirt.

As he pushed himself up, the blond-haired man shot a look up the hole over him, his body language screaming irritation. However, when he shouted, it was less as a way to curse someone out and more to report, "I'm alive! Safe to say it's clear!"

The following voice, though, made the three vigilantes freeze up. "Be sure. Do a quick search."

Oh shit, that was Bane. Suddenly the ceiling caving in made a lot of sense, and that wasn't the only thing running through the young man's head. Flashbacks of his last encounter with that monster ran through his mind and he knew that he could not let that bastard think it was safe down here. Not unless he wanted to risk all their lives in the process.

It was a good thing that Bane's scout here had been too lazy to, you know, actually take a look around before saying it was safe. Pulling out more than a few classic birdarangs—they were the ones with the explosive charges in them—Nightwing threw them at the hole and watched as they detonated. The small explosions hopefully would convince Bane that it was not safe right here.

"What the?!" the blond-haired man exclaimed, snapping his head around until he spotted the three vigilantes.

Katana had her sword drawn, her attention focused on a spot between Bird and the hole above him. Spoiler had her fists up, ready for a brawl. Lastly, Nightwing had drawn one of his escirmas, but held another birdarang in hand, just in case he needed it.

"Who is that?" Bane's voice demanded from above.

Crap, he wasn't scared off. Nightwing's hopes were dashed.

The blond-haired man spat before answering, "It's some of the Bat's ankle-biters crashing the party where they're not wanted."

A heartbeat passed, Nightwing wondering what would be happening next. The last thing they needed was for Bane to come down here and repeat what he did back in North Gotham.

"Deal with it, Bird" Bane ordered. "We will rendezvous on the ground level."

"What?!" Bird shouted, snapping his head up. He sounded like he couldn't believe what he had just heard. Neither could Nightwing, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. This was too good to be true.

"They are beneath my notice. Handle it." You could see how the ceiling tremored as the large mass of muscle left the site of the hole.

They had just used so much luck, they probably had none for the rest of their natural lives. Still, if from what he heard from Oracle was correct, Bane had the Mayor with him. Green Arrow hadn't acted yet, so until further notice he could only assume that the Mayor was still captured.

"You two go. I'll handle this one," Nightwing told his two partners. "See if you can't help Arrow out."

"Huh?" Spoiler was looking at him, confused. "But it's three against one! We can take him!"

"This looks like that lawyer guy Oracle told us about. Three's overkill here," he retorted.

"Are you sure?" Katana asked, one eye still on the hole in the ceiling in case Bane changed his mind.

"We've got to save everyone we can, not just beat up the bad guys," the male vigilante answered. "I'll be fine, this shouldn't take too long."

Katana took a second to look him dead in the eye before nodding and snagging Spoiler by the shoulder.

"But!" the young girl tried to protest.

"We need to trust in Nightwing. We have other important matters to deal with," the sword-wielding vigilante told the younger vigilante as she directed her towards another door, one not compromise by Bane's ceiling entrance.

And that left the two remaining men to face off with one another.

"What's this about? Scared I might beat you up in front of a couple of girls?" Bird taunted, now facing him.

"No, just figured you weren't worth their time," he quipped.

"You got a mouth on you, huh?" the blond-haired man commented. "Probably think you're hot shit 'cause you're dressed like a Batman-wannabe. This isn't a picnic, and you know what? Bane's right. You aren't worth his time."

"But I'm worth yours?" he retorted, slipping the birdarang back into his belt and pulling out his other escrima. This guy was starting to piss him off.

"You wish," Bird replied. "You should be so lucky; could've been one of the other guys, the mercs. Now that would be insulting, don't'cha think?

Damn this asshole, he was right. It would be more insulting if Bane had tossed one of his hired goons instead of a lieutenant. Then again, this was the lawyer guy; how tough could he be?

"All I'm hearing is a lot of yapping and not enough punching. You look like a wiseguy, but I bet like them, when faced with someone who can kick their asses, you're really a little bitch," Nightwing taunted. "Big, bad Bane's not here to back you up. Bet you're close to pissing your pants right about now."

Any good humor Bird had was now gone, replaced with a very unfriendly scowl. "Says the dead punk walking."

"Says the guy who hasn't thrown a punch yet."

That did it. With a snarl, Bird came running at him, one arm cocked back and ready to be punched forward. Nightwing could read him like a book and settled on a defensive stance, ready for the blond-haired man.

It soon became obvious that the man's style was that of a street brawler, kinda like Red Hood. A powerful right hook was swung at his head, which was deftly ducked. Bird's forward momentum kept him moving, making Nightwing backpedal so as to avoid the other man running into him. A punch was coming from the left, the vigilante dodging backwards as he continued to get a feel for his opponent.

Unlike most street brawlers, Bird stopped with the punches and switched it up with a kick. Nightwing used a combination of his arm and the escrima stick he held with it to block, then quickly raised his other to block the follow-up punch.

And then he was slipping in, swinging an escrima and landing it into Bird's side, getting a cry out of the blond man. He continued, letting himself snake around the vest-wearing enemy, kicking his foot into the man's back. Bird was pushed forward, but he managed to remain standing even though his legs were doing a weird stumbling dance to do it.

Still, this looked like it was going to be a quick win. Nightwing launched himself forward, already swinging an eckrima. Without warning, Bird seemed to move to a side, his body turning. The escrima ended up swinging short and thanks to committing to his attack, the vigilante was unable to dodge the backhand that swung at him.

 _Bam!_ Right in his cheek! Blinking his eyes to get his bearings quickly, he was barely able to block the kick—excuse him, flying kick—that was aimed at his face. Bird pushed off him, while Nightwing backed away, regarding this man in a different light.

The guy had a couple moves on him. The only reason he had managed to land anything was because Nightwing had underestimated him.

Bird, meanwhile, had pulled out a small, thin whistle and was blowing into it. Seeing this caused the masked man to wonder what he was doing. "Calling for a dog? Didn't think you were one since your name is Bird," he quipped.

"Dogs are for bitches," Bird retorted. "You're about to learn why you shouldn't be dressing up like Halloween."

"Yeah? Well, we'll—"

TSSSSEEEERRR!

Ah! Something sharp had slashed into his right cheek. Feathers were everywhere and a beak was biting at him. Nightwing tried to bat the animal—what the hell was this giant bird doing—oof!

Bird had used the, ahem, big bird to distract him long enough to close in and gut check him. The vigilante could feel the blow and his ribs gave a protest. They were still a bit sore, but had mostly healed by now. This punch, though, threatened to undo all that.

The bird gave a shriek as it attacked again, sharp talons attempting to rip him to shreds. It ended up pulling away, easily avoided the swings Nightwing made with his escrima at it, but unfortunately that distracted him again from Bird and managed to land a kick on him, and right in his side too.

He tried to get away, but then that falcon, or hawk, or eagle, or whatever it was tagged in and tried to peck at his eyes. The two were working off one another and Christ was it effective.

Alright, time for something different.

Going into another backpedal, he slipped his hand to his belt and pulled out the birdarang from earlier. As the bird came in for another swoop, he threw the projectile at it, fully expecting the animal to dodge it. He was not disappointed, but that was part of the plan. The small explosion that happened next shocked the bird enough that it broke off its attack with a shriek, the loud noise overriding its trained mind in favor of its primal reflexes.

Bird had been circling around and was already committed to a punch he was throwing, Nightwing waited until the last second before ducking and grasping onto the sleeved arm as it sailed over his shoulder. Pulling down on the limb, he flipped Bird over him to land on the floor with an "oomph!" coming from the man's mouth.

Already guessing what was happening next, Nightwing activated the escrima's electric current and thrust it in the direction he heard flapping. Wings may have slapped against his arm, but the butt end of the escrima managed to strike the bird right in its...eh, chest?...its chest area place. Add the crackle of electricity along with the inhuman shriek and he knew that his guess had been true.

"Talon!" Bird screamed in horror. Quickly, the blond-haired man rolled onto his front and pushed himself back onto his feet, attempting to charge the vigilante. Deciding to take a page out of his enemy's book, Nightwing answered the charge with a high kick of his own, landing it right in Bird's face and causing his upper body to snap back. As a result, the blond-haired man went flipping over himself and past the masked man, coming to a stopped where his pet bird twitched on the floor.

Yeah, yeah, that ought to take care of him. Them. The two of them. Okay, he was going to stop thinking too hard about all this.

With a groan, Bird lifted his head up and held his jaw, as if checking to see if it was broken. He spat out a tooth, along with a glob of blood. Blue eyes glared at the vigilante, promising pain for this.

"I guess it's going to take a bit more than that," Nightwing sighed as he readied himself for a last clash.

"Take this," Bird snarled through a mouth full of blood as he pulled out a grenade and unpinned it.

Oh crap.

Nightwing could only watch as the weapon was thrown at him. Then his survival instincts kicked in and he was running as fast as he could and—

The shock of the following explosion threw him forward and he landed on the floor in a heap, his escrimas falling out of his hands to clatter about on the ground. Feeling a little dazed, it took a second too long for him to remember that this not the time for this shit, and quickly, he searched for Bird.

And he was gone. That piece of shit. Yeah, it was smart to run when you were losing, but goddamn, it sucked when you were the one who was winning. Hell, he even took that bird with him.

There was a temptation to chase after him, and Nightwing was about to call up Oracle,, but then he heard the sounds of rapidly approaching footsteps. That had to be SWAT and this was not the time to get arrested. They had already been through that with Spoiler and Red Hood.

So when he made his call, it was to regroup with the others.

* * *

Green Arrow had been around some destructive people before. There was the Star City Mob that had no problem with drive-bys or throwing Molotov cocktails at people's homes. There was the occasional bombing and arsons. There was even corrupt city officials looking to tear down people's homes so they could build high-rise condos and wouldn't let anyone get in their way, even if they had to run them over themselves with a bulldozer.

True story, that last one.

But none of those people possessed the raw power this Bane fellow showed. Trenches had been left in the walls on either side of the archer, the broken, stampeded bodies of SWAT lying in its wake. There was a large hole in the wall up ahead and it looked like there was a series of them further inward.

With an arrow notched, Green Arrow slowly crept through the numerous holes, passing three, maybe four of them before he ducked off to a side. He had caught a brief glimpse of a massive hulk—undoubtedly Bane—marching through the last hole. Peeking around the corner, he caught the last of Bane's foot disappearing from sight as he deliberately turned into a room a couple holes down. A few men with guns were trailing behind the brute, along with Mayor Hady in tow.

My, my, was that opportunity knocking? Why, yes it was.

Quickly, Green Arrow gave chase, moving to the hole just before the room Bane had entered. Again peeking around the jagged edge of the broken wall, he saw the last of the men passing through a doorway. A moment later, there was the sound of gunfire.

Again, he dashed to the doorway and pushed it open with a shoulder. Entering the hallway, he saw Bane way, _waaaaay_ up ahead, charging like an enraged bull at what the archer presumed were more SWAT guys. His mercenaries were hanging back, letting the boss man do his thing.

Perfect.

Taking aim, Green Arrow fired an arrow right into the shoulder of the closest merc, causing him to cry out as his body twisted to a side. His arm moving like a blur, Green Arrow was drawing out arrows and firing them in record time, each arrow hitting its target. A couple of the mercenaries were in mid-turn when an arrow struck them in the side of their arms—the deltoids as they were called. The last one took an arrow to their right chest, though the Emerald Archer was counting on the man's body armor to prevent any lasting wounds. He just needed them all focused on something other than him.

By then, Hady was crouched down on the floor, his arms covering over his head as he cried out. Rushing towards the men, his bow strung over his shoulder and tucked behind his back, Green arrow leaped towards the men, but at an angle. This allowed him to stretch out a foot that collided with the wall. Leg bending, he then sprung off the wall, a fist drawn back and subsequently thrown at the merc with an arrow in his back.

Green Arrow's fist collided with the man's face, knocking him backwards until the back of his head rammed into the wall, knocking him out while silencing him. As the man crumpled to the floor, the green-clad man also touched down with his feet and then lunged to the next mercenary, swinging his fist back and landing a backhand blow to the man's face.

With the merc dazed as his head snapped to a side, Green Arrow shot both of his arms out and grabbed onto the man's shoulders, his combat fatigues bunching up within the archer's grasp. Swinging his back leg up, Green Arrow rammed his knee into the man's gut, knocking the wind out of him as he gasped. Stepping to a side, he then pulled as hard as he could on the man and sent him stumbling forward, his torso bent over so that he ran headfirst into the wall. His head jerked back awkward before he dropped into a heap on the floor.

Green Arrow then darted to the other arm-injured mercenary, leading with a solid punch to the abdomen, also knocking the wind out of the guy. Hand's moving up to grab onto the sides of the mercenary's head, he forced it downward while simultaneously jerking his knee up, ramming the man's face into his knee. The man jerked backwards from the blow and fell onto his back on the floor, or he would have had the wall not ended up propping him up in a rather uncomfortable looking position. Slumped would have to be the word for that.

That left one last mercenary; one last bodyguard of Bane's for Hady, who was still crouched on the floor in a perfect impression of a schoolkid during a tornado drill. Leaping over the Mayor, the Emerald Archer, closed the distance between him and the last merc, swinging a haymaker that slammed into the side of the guy's face, snapping his head to one side. With his other fist, Green Arrow swung it too, smashing it into the merc's face and causing it to jerk back to face the other way. Bringing both of his hands up above his head, where he clasped them together, he then swung them down, delivering a jackhammer blow that dropped the man to the floor.

And that—ladies and gentlemen—was how you took out four mercenaries.

Looking further down the hallway, Green Arrow noticed Bane was out of sight, though the vibrations he felt through the floor told him the giant was still doing naughty, destructive things. There was a distinct lack of his lieutenants too, though the archer didn't recall seeing Bird anywhere and Zombie—

No wait, he saw Zombie up ahead, carefully inspecting the fallen SWAT team members as they lay in crumpled heaps on the floor. While Arrow wanted nothing better than to go take the bald son of a bitch down, now wasn't the time, not when he had the Mayor in his custody and desperately needing to be saved.

 _Another time, Zombie._

Spinning around and kneeling next to Hady, Green Arrow put a hand on the man's shoulder and gave him a solid shake. "Hey, Mayor, it's time for you to get out of this hellhole."

Hady tilted his head to a side so that he could peek at the archer, his head jerking up when he noticed the distinct lack of black combat fatigues and the lovely green of his costume. "Who the—"

Immediately, Green Arrow slapped his hand down on the Mayor's mouth, silencing him. Making a shushing gesture with the finger of his other hand, he then quickly said, "Now isn't the time for questions, not if you want to get out from underneath Bane's size fifteen boot. Now let's go before they realize you've flown the coop."

In an instant, Hady shot up onto his feet, Green Arrow right with him as he stood up to his full height. Moving his hand so that he grabbed the Mayor by his bicep, he began leading him back the way they had come, going through the carnage Bane had unleashed on this place. The more distance they put between Bane and Zombie, the better.

* * *

Literally tossing aside the last of the SWAT that he had crushed, Bane took a moment to scan his surroundings, listening for any signs of any approaching hostiles. When sound did not reach his ears, he trust his eyes to spy for any hints of someone hiding, or waiting for him to make a move.

Nothing. It was safe then, or as safe as it could be. The only thing missing happened to be the mayor of this city, his captive and hostage, and soon to be bargaining chip. His men should be appearing anytime now to catch up, all of them smart enough to not put themselves in his way so as to not be unintentionally injured.

"We have a problem, Bane,"

Right on cue, Zombie had appeared, but his words left much to be desired.

"Explain," he demanded. Now was not the time for "problems."

"It happened too quickly for me to stop. The Mayor was just taken from us by one of those vigilantes running around the city," came the explanation. "The vigilante in question escaped instead of pressing on. He took the Mayor with him—"

"—And in effect snatches my victory away from me," Bane finished, a growl in his voice. He had thought he had already dealt with those insects, but like the cockroaches he had practiced on in his cell, there were always more in hiding, coming out when they felt it was safe.

"Compared to the ones you faced before, this one was very quick and efficient with his takedowns. He may pose a threat to us if we allow him to live," Zombie continued. "If—"

"There is no point. Without the hostage, our continued presence here has no meaning. The primary objective of striking down the GCPD has been effective. Their assault team has been dealt a major blow and for now that will have to do," Bane interrupted. "Send in the order to retreat. We're done here."

There was no hesitation when Zombie said, "Of course." His order would be carried out without question.

That still left the issue of the resurgence of the vigilantes. No sooner had he engaged one foe that another would make itself known, pulling his attention in another direction that he could ill afford to direct it to. He still needed to solidify his grip over Gotham and deal with his enemies, those still part of the old criminal element that had yet to surrender, law enforcement, Ra's al Ghul and his minions, and now the pests of the city.

It was more than time to regroup and take stock of his resources and plan out his next move. This war of attrition could not continue.

It would not, and those who carried on this fight would find themselves broken at his feet.

* * *

By the time Gordon reached City Hall, most if not all of the action had passed. Traffic had delayed him as he had rushed through the city, heading here from Cobblepot's Iceberg Lounge. The trip back to his car on foot had taken way too much time and as soon as he had opened the driver's side door, the radio had been screaming about what was going down.

It frustrated the Commissioner to know that he was so close, yet so far from where he needed to be, and it didn't help that the suddenness of the attack had resulted in congested streets that further delayed him.

The first thing he spotted was the Mayor by one of the ambulances, being treated by an EMT. He felt relief at that sight; looks like they weren't losing another mayor so soon. Maybe he was thinking this too soon as Hady could very well not want the office after tonight. No one would blame him.

He would find out who was in charge of organizing the men later and give them a freaking medal while he was at it; first thing was first and that was to speak with the elected official.

"Hady! Thank God you're alright," he called out as he approached the ambulance.

"Gordon?" Hady looked like he was in a daze; he was probably still in shock.

"Are you unharmed? Who was responsible for all this?" the Commissioner pressed, hoping to get some answers.

"Only some minor abrasions, a few scratches," the paramedic answered the first question for the elected official. "He's still coming off an adrenaline high from the looks of it."

That was a bit of a relief. Hady wasn't too seriously injured and still in one piece. That was better than most could hope for.

"What happened in there, Hady? I need you to talk to me," Gordon continued, training his eyes on the highest ranking person in the area.

Hady blinked his eyes, though he still appeared like he himself was trying to come to grasps with everything. "He saved me. He didn't have to, but he did."

"Who saved you?" It seemed like every other thing he said was a question right now.

"The...the man in green. He saved me from him. Saved me from...Bane," Hady managed to get out.

His worst fear was confirmed right there. Cobblepot had been right that that madman had been planning something against them. Christ, City Hall must have been some kind of trap if that bastard was correct, in which it had been them who were the real targets. Hady and everyone else were incidental.

Still, it was too early to say that. They were going to need statements, and also search for evidence to figure out what this had all been about. Hady was going to need assigned protection, in case he was truly the real target and this attack on law enforcement was a pretense. There was still so much unknown about this.

Looking at the paramedic, he said, "Get him to the nearest hospital and have him checked out. Make sure no one goes near him; I'll have some officers come by."

"Got it," the EMT answered, turning his attention back to the shaken man.

That left Gordon to find who was in charge here. While he did that, he thought about Hady's words. Specifically, the description of a man in green. As far as he knew, Gotham didn't have any vigilantes who wore that color. He also felt a cold weight in his stomach at the thought of them having another one. Didn't these people know how dangerous this was?

After what happened...this was not a place that was friendly to that type anymore. With the fall of...Batman, this was a new age in Gotham, and vigilantes could not be tolerated anymore. As thankful as he was that one had managed to save the Mayor, it didn't change anything.

It took some time, but eventually he spotted a face that he knew would give him what he wanted. Correction, there were two of them. From where he stood, he could see the tension between them, which was a dead giveaway that something had gone down. Definitely some kind of disagreement, and Gordon prepared himself as best as he could as he made his way over to them.

"Lieutenant! Petit! Would either of you fill me in on the details?" he called out as he approached, doing his best to hide his caution.

"Joining us after the fireworks have ended? Where the hell were you?" Petit demanded. The mustache-wearing commander of SWAT did not look happy, not at all.

"As stupid as it sounds, traffic. It would have taken just as long if I came on foot. Give me the scoop, what happened." He gave Petit a look, one that gave a demand of his own.

Sarah, though, was the one who answered him. "Bane made a move on City Hall. He came in on all sides of the building, and attempted to take the Mayor hostage. SWAT was sent in to neutralize the threat and rescue Hady, but was met with resistance from Bane's men. There's still some fighting happening, some of the perps holing themselves up, but they'll only last so long. Unfortunately, Bane got away."

"I'm not hearing anything about the vigilantes that crashed the party and made a mess of things," Petit spoke up, shooting Sarah a look.

So there was more than the one in green. It figured.

"Were any of them apprehended?" Gordon cut in before any argument could take place.

"They too got away. Seems like they learned from Mercy," the Lieutenant answered.

"What about casualties? Did we lose any?" the Commissioner continued, businesslike. Hopefully these rapid fire questions would keep these two focused on what they needed to be focused on.

"Too many injured," Petit admitted grudgingly, looking away. "Especially the ones that ran into Bane. They couldn't stop him."

That wasn't good news. It also gave more proof to Cobblepot's claim that they were the ones targeted here.

"Get a head count—who's injured, who isn't. We need to know what we have to work with. Let's see about grabbing any of the stragglers we have pinned down," he instructed. "Let's get this place cordoned off while we're at it. Question everyone we can and see if we can't figure out what this was suppose to accomplish."

"With what? We're starting to become a skeleton crew with how spread out we are," Petit retorted.

"Not for long, because if there were any last reservations about it, they're gone. The National Guard is coming in force and we're going to have more than enough manpower to do our goddamn jobs," Gordon replied. "In the meantime, we follow police procedure until reinforcements arrive."

By the time he had finished, Petit had both of his eyebrows raised. "About time," the SWAT commander muttered, but he turned to see to the Commissioner's orders.

Sarah meanwhile, was giving him a look, one that promised that they were going to have a talk soon. What about, who knew, but he had an idea or two. He would deal with it when it occurred, but in the meantime there was work to be done.

The kind of work that could distract from an ugly bastard's taunting words.


	37. Jason's Split

It should have been a win. The Network had managed to save Mayor Hady from Bane's clutches, preventing whatever evil plans the giant man had in store for him. In spite of the GCPD's best efforts, none of the vigilantes had been killed in action, or arrested and placed in jail. True, Bane was still out there with his lieutenants in tow, but it was progress all the same. They had effectively ended the entire night in a draw, which was a better result than what they had been having.

So why was it being treated like a loss?

Nightwing had his palm pressed against his eyes, his fingers and thumb digging into either side of his forehead. He felt aggravated and it all centered around one person: Jason. His passion was admirable, but it was rarely constructive and his stubbornness had yet to let him see the big picture. Well, the ultimate defeat of Bane was technically the big picture, if not the goal, but he steadfastly refused to see any other strategy aside from a face-to-face encounter.

As if to add to the growing headache that was Jason, Huntress had just told him what had happened at City Hall with Manhunter confirming every sordid detail. In the middle of the action, Jason had picked up a machine gun and shot—actually shot—Bane's men. He had managed to not catch Manhunter in the crossfire, but they could easily be discussing the brunette vigilante's untimely death instead of a near hit.

"Jesus Christ!" Jason...ahem, Red Hood exploded from his seat at the table. It was only him, Nightwing, Huntress, Manhunter, and Black Canary in the room, the others having been dismissed. Green Arrow and Katana had seen to it the younger vigilantes had left the room so that this little talk could occur without their added judgement. They obviously knew what happened and were letting the affected parties and leaders handle it.

"You guys are acting as if it were the end of the world!" Red Hood continued on his tirade, clearly angry he was being reprimanded. In fact, Nightwing could see a perspective where the teen felt like he was being ganged up on. It didn't help there were more of the older vigilantes around to enforce that image. "All I did was pick up a gun and use it against the bad guys. What's the problem?"

"The problem is that you could have killed someone," Huntress shot back, the purple-clad woman nearly shooting out of her own seat as she leaned over the table, her hands pressed down on top of it. It was pretty clear where Huntress stood on this subject.

"That's what these mercenaries are trying to do to us!" Red Hood hollered back, bearing his teeth at the dark-haired woman. "That's what all of the bad guys are trying to do. Why the hell should we handcuff ourselves when fighting them?"

"Because you'd be just another murderer on the streets," Black Canary said sternly. Her back was ramrod straight in her chair, hands resting on the table top with her fingers entwined with each other. She was doing her best to remain calm, but the look on her face said otherwise. "We didn't get into this business to—"

"I know, I know, you don't want to kill people," Red Hood interrupted, setting his sights on the blonde. "But guess what, people die all the time. These guys have it coming, no one would argue that."

"How about we look at this in a different way," Manhunter said then. She was surprisingly calm considering she had been the one that was nearly gunned down. "Being a vigilante is already a violation of the law. What we're doing is an arrestable offense. If we're caught, we're going to jail. You nearly experienced this the other night. Now, how long we're there will depend on our actions: either battery, or murder. I'm sure you know which one carries the stiffer penalty."

"Key word, lady: if. If we're caught, which I don't intend on being caught," the teen replied.

Huntress gave him a look. "So you weren't arrested at Gotham Mercy? That right?"

Red Hood jerked his head to scowl at the purple-clad vigilante. "Can it, bitch."

Nightwing clenched his teeth tightly. Jesus, did Jason do everything in his power to make things worse than they already were? He was practically enraging Huntress on purpose. If this ended in a fight, there was no question who would win.

Moving his hand from his face, the dark-haired man looked to Huntress, expecting her face to be twisted with fury, only to be surprised when she narrowed her eyes instead.

Still, he had to step in if only to assert his authority, such as it was. "Hood, watch yourself," he warned, earning him the teen's glare. "You're already on thin ice as it is."

"Oh, and what's big daddy Nightwing gonna do?" the guy mocked. "You gonna send me to my room without supper?"

Nightwing did his best to not visibly react. It was clear Red Hood was trying to get under his skin and it was pretty damn effective. Still, the guy wanted a reaction and he would be sorely disappointed. "Think about this, and I mean it, really think. What's the whole point in teaching you martial arts and self-defense when there are guns available? We could be doing like you want and shooting anyone that does crime without knowing hand-to-hand combat. So why bother with the lessons?"

For once, Red Hood was quiet as he considered those words. Nightwing hoped that thinking would make him face what the others were trying to get him to see and he was stubbornly refusing to.

"Because we have to know how to defend ourselves," he said after awhile, much to the older male's relief. "Because we might run out of ammo, or have the gun knocked out of our hands."

Whatever relief he had felt vanished in an instant. Huntress and the Birds were staring at him with disbelief. Red Hood immediately saw this and added, "That's what you've been teaching to Bluebird, isn't it?"

Unfortunately, there was some truth to those words. No matter how Nightwing looked at it, he had been training Bluebird how to fight so that she could defend herself if her taser rifle was knocked out of her hands.

Thankfully, it was Black Canary who responded to him. "But her taser gun isn't going to kill people if she hits them in a bad spot. It delivers enough of a shock to stun, if not knock out. A gun isn't going to bring that result over and over. If your aim isn't accurate, you could hit someone other than your target. You could hit a civilian instead, never mind whatever bullet you fire is going straight through whatever it hits and will only stop when it loses enough speed, or hits something it can't completely go through."

"And Bluebird's electricity gun thing won't?" he countered.

"Yes. When it strikes her target, the electricity won't just go through it and hit whatever's behind it. It won't kill someone if she misses."

"You do realize all those bad guys we put away will get back on the streets at some point," Red Hood pointed out. "They will go back to what they were doing until we put them away again. They won't change their ways because you keep throwing them in jail. Hell, Bane freed his own men because they were alive and well in the GCPD. This is a losing game you're playing."

"Be that as it may, you knew what we stood for when we started this, when you agreed to join it," Nightwing stated, resisting the urge to sag his shoulders. "We never use guns—ever. I would get it if you were in a bad situation with no other way out, but you weren't. You picked it up because you wanted to and that is inexcusable." He sighed. "We're going to have to take you off the streets."

Red Hood stared at him for a moment before he really exploded. "Who do you think you are?!" he roared as he stood up from his chair, knocking it over onto the floor. "You're going to ground me? Who gave you that damn right?!"

"You did when you picked up that gun," Nightwing responded with an edge in his voice.

Red Hood's rage wrote itself over his face before he snarled, "Well you and your stupid Network can go fuck yourselves. If this is the way you're going to be fighting Bane and all those other nutjobs, then I don't want to be a part of it. I'm out."

With that, the teen spun around and stormed towards the door. Huntress was immediately on her feet, calling out to him. "If you leave this room, you better leave that mask behind too. Because if I find you on the streets doing this, I will personally put you down and leave you gift wrapped for the GCPD."

"I'd like to see you try!" Red Hood shot back as he spun around to face her, walking backwards as he did so, though he made no move to remove his domino mask. "You can't beat Bane and you can't beat me. I can see that now. So try and stop me, but I promise you that you'll hear from me again and when you do, it'll be because I did what you failed to do. My name will be held right up there with Batman's as this city's protector.

"COUNT ON IT!"

Before anyone else could voice themselves, Red Hood reached the door and turned to open it, slamming it closed behind him.

There was a silence in the room as the remaining vigilantes stared at the closed door. "Well, that could've gone better," Manhunter muttered.

 _Yeah, it could've,_ Nightwing silently agreed with her. Jason was now flying solo. He had no doubt the kid would be fighting crime on his own now that he knew the rush, the adrenaline. No way could he leave this life.

Unfortunately, he was dangerous to them. He knew Stephanie and Harper's identities and if he was caught, Nightwing truly believed the teen would drag them down with him if it would save his skin. They would need to monitor him and make sure he didn't trip up. As much as he wanted the Red Hood identity retired, that wasn't going to happen.

Nightwing sagged into his seat as his dark thoughts overwhelmed him. So much for their draw.

* * *

"Are you going to tell me where you were? Why you only showed up _after_ everything was calming down?"

The Commissioner looked up from the report on his desk, one of many that had been coming in about the attack on City Hall. In the doorway to his office was Sarah, the lieutenant gazing at him with an expressionless eye. Her arms were crossed over her chest and everything, a sign that she was not going to accept anything less than what she wanted to hear.

What she wanted to hear was the truth, and right now that was not the easiest thing for him to do. It was why he was trying to distract himself with all these reports, trying to figure out what had been the motive behind Bane's raid. Ever since he had left the scene though, there had been a part of him that knew that this was coming, and here it was now.

As much as he wanted to avoid it, Gordon knew that there would be no running from this. So, he gestured for her to come in, not even having to say anything when Sarah closed the door behind her. This was as good as it could get when it came to privacy in the department.

Waiting until his wife took a seat, Gordon made himself comfortable in his, knowing that this was going to be rough. For him, at least, not for her.

"I was doing an investigation," he began. "We've been getting those anonymous tips about those weapon caches and dumps, and it got me curious. They were very accurate, too much so, and I wanted to check into it. Maybe I've been a cop too long, but I couldn't accept that this was a mere coincidence, that two different people made two different calls about the same kind of thing."

Sarah nodded. "I'm assuming you found something." Leave it to Sarah to not go down his throat and chastise him about looking a gift horse in the mouth. She was already taking the information he had given her and was putting it together with what she already knew.

"I found that both tips came from the same number and each call came from the same place, a location that was nowhere near where the dumps were found," the Commissioner confirmed, leaning forward and placing his hands on his desk, clasping them together. "Like any old gumshoe, I decided to do a follow-up and went to check it out."

"And without backup," Sarah stated. There was no skepticism, but there was a chiding. Yes, in hindsight, he knew better.

"I don't know if that would have changed anything. I found Oswald Cobblepot at the end of the trail," he continued, looking his wife in her eyes, and watching as they widened.

She remembered that incident as well, the one where that bastard had kidnapped Barbara. She knew what his feelings about the man were, and agreed with them herself. Barbara was her stepdaughter now.

"You called it in, right? Cobblepot is one of the Blackgate escapees we've yet to track down."

Gordon gave a sigh, already giving Sarah the answer to her question. However, more would be needed if she was to understand why he _hadn't_ called it in. "He knew I was coming and he was ready. He's already fortified himself and would be able to stand up to a siege, what with our manpower as it is right now. But that's not what stopped me. That bastard has an in with Bane and offered to be a double agent for us."

Sarah opened her mouth to say something only to snap it shut. They both knew what she was going to ask and they both knew that the answer was not going to be an easy one to say. The fact that he hadn't called Cobblepot in was that the Commissioner was considering accepting the offer.

Between the two, Bane was the greater threat and whatever advantage the department could get over him was not to be sneezed at. On the other hand, this was goddamn Oswald Cobblepot and who in their right mind would ever trust him? From kidnapping his daughter to setting off a small mob war before the likes of Two-Face and Bane upped the ante, who knew how much blood was on that man's hands?

Silence seemed to weight heavy on both of them before Sarah, mercifully, broke it. "Are you sure...are you sure that you want to do this? After what he did to you, to Barbara, I understand if you want to take what's left of SWAT to drag him out of whatever hole he's crawled in to. We shouldn't need to rely on his…'help.'"

"Before I left, he told me that Bane was planning an attack on the department. When I reached the radio, the attack on City Hall had already begun. If he could get that kind of information, what advantage would that give us?" He had to put that out there. They couldn't afford his misgivings to prevent them from using a valuable tool that might give them the edge they needed.

"What would we have to give in return? It sounds like he's trying to cut a deal with us, one that gives him an edge over us. How would he benefit from us agreeing to using him?" Sarah asked aloud. Those were the same questions he had been asking himself when not screaming at the cars in front of him to get out of the way.

Normally, he would have come up with several possibilities as to what Cobblepot's motives were, but right now, after everything, he was tired. He was mentally taxed and slowing down, yet he could not afford to do so so long as they were at war.

That was why he said, "I don't know," his exhaustion leaking through and into his voice. "I just don't know."

"We all need to rest," Sarah said quietly. "We can't keep up with this pace. Not for long. Eventually, we're going to break. Or someone will and it will have a domino effect."

"But we can't do a goddamn rotation or anything to give anyone a chance to rest," Gordon groaned. "So long as Bane is able to pull stunts like this, it's only a matter of time."

The abrupt ringing of his phone interrupted the depressing moment and automatically his mind snapped back into professional mode. Picking up the receiver, he put it to his head, moving only by muscle memory at this point. "This is Gordon."

Silence fell over the pair, but unlike before, there was curiosity embedded in this one. So it was welcomed, hopefully something to take their minds off the situation if only for a short amount of time. Gordon gave short answers, be they one or two words long, or a "mmhmm" here and there.

Only when he ended the call did he speak in a complete sentence. "The Guard's arrived and they want to speak with me."

And then there was a renewed energy in the room. Reinforcements had arrived at last. With the National Guard combined with martial law, their options had opened up considerably.

"Do you need to leave?" Sarah asked, standing up.

"They're waiting on the other side of the river. If you don't mind, I'd liked the company on the way there," he told her, his lips curving upward in a long absent smile.

"I'll go get my keys," she replied, leaning close enough to give him an encouraging peck on the cheek.

* * *

Crane eyes the pocket watch in his hand, counting down the minutes as the minute hand slowly ticked clockwise. Any moment now the truck should be pulling onto this street. Within its confines was a shipment of a key ingredient to his fear toxin.

It was one so important that he could not afford to have any of it go missing. He would add there was a heavy emphasis on afford because even with his benefactor's financial backing, this was an ingredient that was very expensive. It would be more than a shame if something, he didn't know, were to happen to it.

Which is why he was keeping out of sight, yet had a vantage to keep an eye out for the truck. Based on the shipping schedule and his knowledge of the truck's route, it should be pulling onto this particular street any minute now. There wasn't really anything special about this road in particular other than it was on the way to the vehicle's destination. Nothing at all which needed to have his sole attention.

And there it was, pulling into view as it made a left further down the street. Despite how late it was, the driver was a trooper, the reedy man would admit. Almost like that old slogan with the postal service; no rain, or hail, or sleet, or snow…

But heavily armed men stepping out in the truck's way, aiming their weapons at the vehicle was something else altogether.

Oh, had he forgotten to mention that part? Yes, this particular road happened to be deep in the territory claimed by that brute, Bane. Nothing went through here without that man's say so. At least, that was what Crane was led to believe. Here was the chance to put that theory to the test.

Not to Crane's surprise, the truck came to an abrupt stop, tires screeching against the pavement. As if that was a cue, more armed men slipped out from wherever they were hidden and approached the truck from all sides. One of them stepped away from his post blocking the street and strolled over to the driver side of the cab. At that point, the man also known as the Scarecrow could not see the self-appointed ambassador as the transport vehicle itself blocking him from sight.

Now, he should probably do something about this. That truck was carrying something important to him and it was something that he would miss. Yet, he did nothing, nothing but glance at the pocket watch he held and marking the time.

Moments later, some of the armed men circled around to the back of the truck. As if they had done it before, they opened up the back where the cargo was stored and that was all he needed to see.

He had told the Phantasm that Bane was interfering with the shipments of materials he needed to craft his infamous toxin. Well, now it was no longer a lie, a claim made up on the spot to keep his partner-in-crime here in the city. The manufactured evidence was right here, and if that ghoulish killer came investigating, this would only back up the accusations.

He figured that the Phantasm wasn't a person you crossed, otherwise you became a target for his wrath.

There was no need to say that he himself had been the ones to tip off Bane's men here. Sure, the contents of that truck were important, incredibly so. The fact that he had received another shipment with double the contents earlier in the day was not as important. What, thought he was going to give up a key ingredient to his brain child? No, this ruse needed to be severe enough that it required a response.

That was going to be a response that would lead to the deaths of these men, but what did he care? These unwitting pawns meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Closing the latch of the pocket watch, he stuffed it into his coat and turned on his heel, leaving his little crow's nest to head back to his new little home. Barely a street away, he came across what looked like a homeless man, the individual in questions covered in raggedy and filth-ridden garments. He was kinda scruffy-looking and the empty bottles nearby hinted at an all too common problem in society.

He stopped nonetheless and used his foot to nudge the homeless man's in a bid to get his attention. When the first nudge resulted in no response, he did another one, though he used a little more force this time.

The homeless man lifted his head up, bleary yet dead eyes looking up at him.

With a strained smile, Crane said, "You look like a man who's down on his luck. I have a position that I need filled, one that requires a little manual labor. I can pay you for your services." To add credibility to his offer, he held out a wad of cash, twenties prominently displayed.

It seemed the money had the man's attention. "What do you want?" the poor sod asked, his voice as gruff as he looked.

"We can talk on the way," Crane chuckled. "It's nothing too demanding, but it will pay. You'll be able to afford some of the good stuff and really have a night on the town when you do."

The man's attention flickered from Crane to the money and back. He remained where he had laid himself out, the moments passing before he finally began to shift. The promise of more alcohol seemed to be the motivation he needed to get to his feet, though his balance was unsteady.

"This way," the former researcher said, gesturing for the recruit to follow after him. While it was obvious that this man was still under the influence, with some cleaning up, and some sobering up, he should be capable of some manual labor. He didn't seem the type to ask a lot of questions, especially if there was some money involved. In fact, he hadn't said anything since he had gotten up on his feet.

This had the promise of an adequate employment.

* * *

Talia had done well. Her foray into Gotham's business world had obtained him and his assassins proper lodging, if not a vantage point to oversee the city. It was no Wonder Tower, but it would suffice.

Staring out at the city from the top floor window, confident the enemy was not targeting him, Ra's al Ghul surveyed the urban landscape. It was a setup similar to the one Bane had run at his high-rise apartment, though the Demon's Fang would ensure an attack on the building would not occur. His assassins were too well-trained for such a thing to happen.

It also helped that there were active patrols on constant alert several blocks in either direction of the building.

The base's security was of little importance to the Eternal Man, however. Though minuscule in the long run, several of his men had been butchered in just as many nights. The constant scout teams that patrolled the city were being ambushed, slain, and then posed at the scene of the crime.

It was something right out of the stories of the West's bloody history with serial killers. In fact, this killer was a highly-skilled one if he were able to dispatch his assassins without being caught, or identified. To discover this one's identity, Ra's needed to obtain intelligence.

Off to his right was a table, a small stack of files resting on top of it. Those very files were the intelligence he had sought and his assassins had delivered. It seemed, though every occurrence pointed at an individual effort, they were not an act of randomness. In fact, Ra's strongly believed that this was another front opened against him by Bane and in this he was not incorrect.

As for this new foe, he was one the Detective had faced before. Turning his attention to the files, the Demon's Head moved a hand to open the cover and reveal a report submitted by the GCPD, the mug shot of a bald man with tally marks cut into this flesh clipped to the documents. According to the file, his name was Victor Zsasz, a serial killer with the propensity for mutilating himself after killing others. To the man's credit, the number of tally marks he had accumulated was not unimpressive.

However, some of those marks now represented his men and that was an offense Ra's did not take too lightly. While he understood the meaning behind those scar-like marks, the reason for posing the bodies made little sense. Perhaps it was a sign of the dark affliction within him, an urge that demanded to be fulfilled. Whatever the reason, it only spoke to the evil infecting the man.

Ra's knew how to handle such evil.

Returning his attention back to the window, he eyed the reflection of his two assassins, both standing at attention some distance behind him. That was all the attention he paid them as his eyes once more gazed upon Gotham in all of its festering rot.

"There is a man actively targeting us," Ra's intoned to the men behind him, not once turning to look at them. "Though his efforts have only caught my attention, it is only that. However, such attacks cannot be ignored for they are the efforts of Bane.

"This cannot be allowed to continue."

Finally, Ra's turned to face his men, their rigid posture indicating they were listening to every word he said. "Draw out this killer. Bring him out into the light so that he can be disposed of. You have sent out my request, correct?"

"Yes, Master," one of his men immediately answered. "Your specialist intends to arrive by tomorrow night to do as you have ordered."

A faint smile appeared on Ra's lips. There were very few people he viewed as equals and the one he called upon was easily the most deadly person he had ever come across. For his underlings, he had orders. For ones of this person's caliber, it was a request. If they had declined, he would have bared them no ill-will. After all, a serial killer from the West was beneath their notice.

That they agreed to assist him and would carry out their mission promptly was only part of the message he wished to send to Bane. Aside from Bane, there were others he had recently recruited in Gotham, people that had faced the Detective and failed. Those who had suffered defeat at the hands of the Detective were of no threat to Ra's himself, but these people had proven themselves a threat at one point. It would be foolish to assume that threat was no longer.

Though Bane had recruited this serial killer, Ra's wished to show the man that he could bring in countless others to assist him in his conquest of Gotham, yet all those he brought in would always be insufficient when put up against the forces Ra's could summon. Already, his assassins were more than a match for the masked man's mercenaries. Though a confrontation between their lieutenants had yet to occur, Ra's had no doubt that Ubu or Talia wouldn't have any trouble against Bane's.

Now though, Bane would see the gulf between them. Let him throw wave after wave of men, none would be able to fell this warrior. All whom had opposed them had fallen in the most brutal fashion.

What better message to send to a foe than that?


	38. Blood Red Hood

I just wanted to say that there are graphic sense in this chapter. It's towards the end of the chapter, so consider yourself warned.

* * *

They were all bullshit. Nightwing, the Network, all of them, just bullshit.

Jason sat in the darkness of his dingy apartment. Well, it really wasn't much of an apartment mostly because it was the best he could get out of his social worker and with his being a ward of the state, the government was doing all of the paying. Still, it wasn't much, but it was all his.

When Jason had first discovered the identities of Stephanie and Harper, he thought he had struck gold. His first impulse was to turn the two bitches over to the gang that ran his neighborhood. That would've bought him a ticket to a much better life than the one he had.

He had changed his mind only slightly because he knew how the city's vigilantes were working at the time. Several teams had been formed in the years since Batman began taking over; Jason had no doubts the girls weren't alone and it would be even better for him to find out everything he could on them and whoever else they were working with.

That's when he met Nightwing and something in him changed. Ya see, just looking at the guy told Jason he wasn't someone you messed with lightly. Their subsequent training sessions had backed that up very fast. However, the longer he had fought the guy, the more he realized just what he could gain from joining these vigilantes versus turning them in to the gangs on the street.

Jason had always been a fighter and always would be. However, these people knew tricks he didn't. They went out night after night and got better, beating those thugs that ran his neighborhood on a regular basis. The young man realized that if he could fight like them, he could maybe run them out, or make them fear him, which pretty much had the same result he wanted.

Soon, being held up in the same light as Batman was very appealing.

So he gave the stupidly-named Batclan what they wanted to convince them he was on their side, so that they would accept him. He gave them the Blackgate escapees, Murph, and anyone that had it out for him. In turn, they made him a better fighter, though he had to grudgingly admit that he was definitely not as good as he had originally thought.

In fact, he had to suffer a lot of insults to his worth, each insult aggravating him more and more. Some were more acceptable than others, though he learned those long after the initial prick to his pride. Unknowingly fighting Batman's sidekick had become more acceptable once he had learned who she really was.

But then everything changed the night Bane had broken the Bat. Gone was all of Jason's self-serving ambitions and he only wanted to help take that bastard down. He even voted to join Nightwing's Network group to further that end.

But then he slowly learned that these people, these other vigilantes, weren't what they claimed to be. They preached taking a slower course, allowing Bane to do whatever the hell he wanted while they took out his men, which there seemed to be no shortage of. Then when he brought up the most logical course of action for them, they lectured him.

They were idiots, all of them.

So here he was, having left them after yet another lecture and them wanting to ground him. That still pissed him off to no end. Their leadership was only going to make them lose this war and no way was Jason going to be preached to by losers. No, it was time to take matters into his own hands.

Before the young man was a footlocker. He wasn't sure where he had gotten it, but it was very useful in keeping things he wanted safe. The lock was undone, tossed to the floor. With the lid open, Jason reached in and rummaged around inside the footlocker.

It wasn't long before he pulled out a towel, folded into an oddly-formed square. Resting it on his lap, Jason was careful to unfold it, grabbing the edge of the towel between two fingers and slowly pulling it outward from the center. Soon, the towel was completely unfolded, and resting on it were two handguns, the handle of one gun hovering underneath the barrel of the other and vise versa.

These were the only keepsakes he had from his dad, may he rot in hell. There had been many times Jason had wanted to whip these babies out, but had thought better. He hadn't been in a position to take advantage of their raw power, not until now.

Leaning over, he again reached into the footlocker and pulled out a box of ammo. Picking up one of the guns, he removed the magazine, finding it empty as he expected. Placing the gun back on his lap, he began feeding bullets into the clip until it couldn't hold anymore. Satisfied, he shoved the magazine back into the gun, pulling back on the barrel of the gun so that the top bullet entered the bullet chamber.

Oh yeah, he was going to administer some true justice on the scum of Gotham. Once he was confident in his skill with these babies, he would aim higher and take out Bane's men. Then, once he had killed those guys off, he'd set his sights on Bane and put that bastard down.

For the first time in a long time, Jason felt as if he was finally going in the right direction.

* * *

The skyline of Gotham was a way for Nightwing to clear his mind. It was more the height than the actual sight, a coping skill left over from his days in the circus. There was just something he found calming standing on top of a pole, a foot resting on the end of a tightrope. That feeling never seemed to go away.

He was needing that serenity right about now, especially after Jason's blow up and quitting. Yes, the guy was full of himself, argumentative, and tended to not respond well to be being told what to do, but that didn't mean that the young man wasn't concerned about him.

Jason was just so angry. At times he recognized it as something he had once felt so long ago, before becoming Nightwing. There was something that had happened in Jason's life, then add to having to grow up in the streets, and you get someone who was very prickly and didn't work well with others.

And there were some good things about him. Though he tried to hide it, the guy had some kind of heart in him. Self-serving, yes, but it was being put to good use. Who knows, maybe given enough time and nurturing, it could be brought out. He was becoming a decent fighter, managing to outdo both Spoiler and Bluebird in recent spars. And he had dedication and persistence.

If only they could do something with that anger…

"Heard about Hood. How're you holding up?"

He knew immediately it was Red Robin, but he didn't look over his shoulder to say and greet the masked teen. Nightwing kept his eyes on the city, taking a moment to really take it in. This was what they were fighting for, and even though you couldn't see it, what with the towering buildings and the lights that lit up the night, somewhere in there were monsters, the kind that made the boogeyman look like a bitch. When not being terrorized, it was filled with so many people, all trying to live their lives and make something of themselves, not concerned with the citywide crises that seemed to happen every year.

In that moment, he never felt prouder to be a Gothamite. Then he had to come back down and give a response to his former partner. "I'm more curious as to who doesn't know. It really was loud back there."

"What're you going to do? Are you going to leave things like they are?" the transplant to Jump asked as he came up beside the older vigilante, crouching down and taking a seat next to him. In front the of the pair was the ledge of the building they were perched on and a several story drop to the streets below.

"I think he needs time to cool his head off," Nightwing said after a moment. "His biggest problem is that he lets his emotions get the better of him at the wrong time. He's so busy trying to prove himself a tough guy that he hasn't figured out that no one's impressed by it. But the gun thing? I didn't think this was going to have to be something brought up."

"From what I've heard from the girls—yours, not the Birds—you guys literally picked him off the street," Red Robin pointed out. "The best that I've figured out, you have a lot in common with him. Not like me, or the girls, who have some kind of family waiting at home for them, as far as I know. The both of you are orphans."

"I don't think he trusted anybody enough to talk about himself. Shit—I could have been that person," the older male spoke, swearing at himself. "Instead I gave him shit, didn't give a lot of reasons for him to trust me, to trust what we do. I guess I was taking my anger out on him, what with Spoiler being dumb enough to keep her costume in her damn backpack."

"That was really dumb," Red Robin agreed. "But we're all done dumb stuff before. I was dumb enough to get caught by Two-Face and put my parents in danger. I guess we're all owed one, so long as it is something we can fix."

"But you had to move to the other side of the country. This was more manageable than yours." Nightwing gave a grim smile, thinking not only about the differences between the two mistakes, but also how he could have done better with Jason. Anyone willing to stand up to a giant plant with teeth couldn't be all that bad, right? "But now...I mean, he was never the person who listened from the get-go. Once he makes up his mind, it's like you have to put the fear of God into him to make him listen."

"Doesn't help that he wants to start adding guns to the mix. Shame that Batman isn't here to set him straight," sighed the younger teen. "So how long are you going to let him cool off? I don't think it's safe letting him run around out there by himself."

"Give it a few hours, maybe the night, then I'll try to see if I can't talk with him." Now it was his turn to sigh. He was not looking forward to that, but a guilty conscience wasn't about to let him off the hook.

"Do you know how to find him?" Red Robin asked.

Now he was giving a smirk. "I've learned since last time. Got a tracer embedded in that suit I gave him. It's in all our suits now. That way if someone gets captured, a quick call to Oracle will give everyone a head's up on where they are so we can rescue them. Now about to let another you happen on my watch again."

"Do the rest know?" An important follow-up question and one that made Nightwing's smirk grow a little larger.

"Nope. You can bet at least Red Hood would be pissed. Not sure about the girls, but I haven't had the chance to tell them either. Now that I'm thinking about it, yours probably has a tracer too. I don't think Oracle is going to let you out of her sights anytime soon."

He noticed how Red Robin tried to subtly search for the theoretical tracking device and failed spectacularly at hiding his alarm.

He was feeling a little bit better now that he was talking this out with a trusted friend, but that didn't change how he was still going to have to wait for now. A part of him wanted to wait longer than a few hours hours, maybe a whole week. Another wanted to find the newbie and try to work something out _now_. There was a third that was adamant about the plan discussed.

Well, he was going to go with that third part for no other reason that it was the best of the three. In the meantime, he could begin thinking of ways of how to make sure he got through Jason's head why they shouldn't be using guns as well as everyone being a better team player. It was all of them standing against what Bane promised to bring to Gotham and they needed to stick together to show that bastard that they weren't having any of what he was selling.

This would be a speed bump, nothing more.

It wasn't like this was going to be the last time he'd see him.

* * *

Red Hood stood at the edge of the mouth of the alley, his back leaning up against the brick wall behind him. His hands were firmly shoved into his pockets, his red hood over his head, hiding his face as he stared towards the ground. A cute girl had walked by seconds ago, which he had picked up from the periphery of his eyes.

Shortly after came a small gang of punks and thugs.

He knew this scene all too well. These punks were tailing the girl, waiting to get her in a more isolated area, then gangbang the shit out of her. It happened more often than you thought and even more than you'd like.

That's where he came in.

Shoving himself off the wall, Red Hood exited the alley and began following the predators and their prey. It didn't matter how far they went, a fight was coming. He could practically smell it.

He even craved it.

There was a confidence in his step, one he hadn't had before. He felt secure, sure of himself. He knew how to fight and was packing. He was the definition of security. These punks didn't stand a chance against him and he knew it.

Red Hood sped up his pace as the girl neared a corner, coming to a stop as she looked both ways down the street in front of her. Crossing safety was ironic considering it was supposed to keep her from being run over by a car, yet was allowing these wolves to catch up to her. Reaching the back of the group, Red Hood pulled his hands out of his pockets and reached up with one, tugging on the guy's jacket.

Immediately, the guy spun his head around, only for Red Hood to slam his fist right into his face, knocking him to the ground in an instant. "What the hell?!" his friend shouted as he jumped back, alerting the entire group to his presence.

"Bad move, dickhead," one of them snarled as the entire group faced the vigilante. By now the girl had noticed what was happening and was bolting across the street. Good, there wouldn't be any innocent bystanders here.

"You say that," Red Hood replied after a moment, glancing from each guy and back. "But if you're anything like your pal on the ground, I suggest you walk away."

Oh yeah, that sounded badass.

That's when one of the closer ones took a shot at him. A fist flying, Red Hood immediately ducked it and had his own fist drawn back. As fast as lightning, he threw it, ramming it right into the guy's stomach, knocking the wind out of him as he gasped, the punk bending over from the blow. With his other hand, Hood grabbed the guy by his head and pulled his head back, right before he forced it back down, just in time for the guy's face to slam right onto his rising knee.

Letting go of the certainly unconscious fellow, Red Hood spun around just in time to see another punk throwing a punch at him. Easily, he blocked it and lifted a foot up, stomping it on the guy's foot and causing him to yelp as he began jumping backwards.

That was when something rammed right into Red Hood, arms wrapping around his waist. Tackled right off of his feet, the vigilante found himself hitting the pavement on his back, one of the punks landing right on top of him, knocking the air out of his lungs.

Or at least, that would've happened several months ago. One thing Red Hood had learned from Dickwing and his punk bitches was how to take a hit and how to land on the ground without getting the wind knocked out of him. Keeping his cool, he looked up as he saw his tackler hauling himself up above him and ready to pound his face to a pulp.

 _Nice try, asshole._ Shooting a hand up, Red Hood caught a fist flying at his face, the smacking sound of skin against leather echoing out into the night. His fingers curled around his attacker's fist and held it right there, even as the guy jerked it back and failed.

The guy tried jerking again and Red Hood let him, the punk's eyes widening as he yanked back too hard and fell backwards, and subsequently off the vigilante. Scrambling up, Red Hood was crouched on his feet, the tips of his fingers pressed onto the sidewalk to help balance him. When he saw the punk pushing himself back up too, he sprung off his coiled legs, swinging a foot up to land a perfectly-timed kick to his face. The guy's head snapped backwards and his body whipped back down to the ground, where the back of his head smacked the pavement, bouncing off of it once, but then falling back down as the guy went out cold.

Damn, this was too easy!

For a moment, Red Hood's eyes drifted away from the thugs in front of him. On the building catercorner from the street corner he was at was a CCTV camera, its lens pointed right towards him and his prey. No doubt Oracle was watching what was going on since the Network was going to want to keep their eyes on his movements. Let them. Let them see just how capable he was.

That was when he saw the flash of metal. There were two guys still standing, one of whom was shaking off having his foot being stomped flat. The other had a switchblade in hand and was holding it in front of him, the tip pointing right towards him. Red Hood watched with amusement, allowing himself to feel relaxed.

This, this was cute. At one time, he would've been on high alert with that knife dancing around, but that was because he was unarmed with only his hands to defend him. Now though, he wasn't fighting with one hand tied behind his back.

Casually, he reached to the twin holsters he had stuck in the back of the waistband of his pants. Grabbing one of the guns, he pulled it out and pointed it right at the knife-wielding punk. His and his friend's reaction to the sight of the handgun sent a thrill down his spine as they both froze at the sight of it.

And then he fired.

Knife guy's left side jerked to a side as the bullet blasted through his upper arm. The guy cried out as he dropped the switchblade, grabbing his arm in pain.

"Fuck this!" the other guy cried out as he turned and took off running down the street, a slight limp in his stride. A vicious grin was on Red Hood's face as he took aim at the fleeing man's back.

Just as he reached the corner, something came flying out from around it. It was long and thin, like a bat or a 2X4. Whatever it was, the running punk caught it against his chest, stopping his upper body right then and there. However, his lower body kept moving, so his legs swung up into the air before gravity dropped him to the ground.

And then something else came around the corner, something that made Red Hood blink his eyes in bewilderment.

* * *

"Bad guys beware! Your villainy comes to an end!" Bat-Joker declared as he appeared on scene.

And then came to an abrupt stop, his eyes blinking owlishly. In front of him were a bunch of gangbangers, a few lying on the ground while another stood with his arm bleeding, staring much like he was at him. Further back was another guy, but he had a gun in hand and a domino mask on. However, his clothes looked a whole lot different from the gang members in that it looked like he was wearing armor.

"Uuuuugh," a groan came, causing Bat-Joker to glance down at the man he had clotheslined. The youngster was shifting on the ground, his arms wrapped around his chest. A crowbar could do that to a person.

Shaking himself out of his stupor—in his mind, mind you, since doing so physically made people think you were crazy—Bat-Joker casually swung a foot forward, kicking the kid across his face and knocking him out. "Now, now, what do we have here?" he asked. "Were you young people having a disagreement? Despite what common sense says, violence is not always the answer."

"Dear God!" the bleeding thug swore before he began stumbling away from Bat-Joker, no doubt in fear of that Bat Symbol on his chest. He flew right by the guy with the gun and kept running, leaving only Bat-Joker and this mystery guy.

"Well, now it's just you and me, Bucko. Mind telling me why you're assaulting these people? I mean, I know why they would be beating on people, but you I'm not so sure. Don't you know fighting can be dangerous?"

Immediately, the kid pointed his gun right at him, aiming for his head. "Don't come any closer, you creep!" he demanded, baring his teeth at him.

Oh, oh! This! This was one of those classic moments where Batsy had to disarm the guy pointing the gun at him! Bat-Joker knew exactly what to do in this situation! Hiding his hand beneath his cape, he went searching for the pouch that held his sharp, throwing thingies. At least he was trying to covertly; this was harder than Batsy made it look.

 _That's not the right pouch...not the right pouch...nooot the right pouch...okay, which frigging one was it?!_

"Drop your weapon," the other guy warned him then.

"Weapon? What weapon?" Bat-Joker replied as he finally found the pouch, digging his hand into it. "I don't have any weapon on me. Hell, I don't even know who you are, Junior."

"The name's Red Hood, ya crackpot," the guy spat at him. "And I'm talking about the thing your holding. That metal pipe."

"What? The crowbar?" Bat-Joker asked as he held up the offending crowbar.

Suddenly, the gun fired and the crowbar went flying out of Bat-Joker's hand, the masked vigilante jumping to a side as he jerked his head around, watching as the crowbar went clattering onto the sidewalk. Again, he found himself blinking his eyes at what had just happened before he looked back to Red Hood. "Wow, good shot."

"Yeah, I am," Hood of Red sneered.

Suddenly, Bat-Joker whipped his hand out and sent his sharp projectile flying through the air, where it struck Red Hood's hand, knocking the gun out of his grasp. The guy yelped as he grabbed his hand in pain. "So am I, Junior," Bat-Joker growled threateningly.

And then he was running at Red Hood, who finally looked up at him after nursing his hand. With a right hook, Bat-Joker decked the kid, causing his head to snap to a side. He then swung his other fist, knocking Red Hood's head back the other way.

However, when he went for a third punch, Red Hood shot a hand up and blocked the blow. That's when Bat-Joker felt a fist ram into his stomach, causing him to gasp as he flinched back a step. Keeping his eyes on the kid, he saw him holding his fists up like a boxer, hopping from one foot to the other.

"Oh, so this is the kind of fight we're having," the vigilante said as he took up a similar stance, shifting his weight back and forth from one foot to the other, his own fists held up before him. "I'll have you know, I was the champ in the Arkham Psych League."

"Oh, I believe it, you wacko," Red Hood spat back before he lunged forward, jabbing at Bat-Joker's face. He blocked the punch as he stepped backwards, causing the kid to move forward, throwing another jab. He kept jabbing, always with the same fist, and Bat-Joker kept blocking.

This was all leading up to something, which turned out to be a left hook from Red Hood. Bat-Joker leapt backwards to avoid the swing and did so successfully. He then leaned further back to avoid a backswing of the same hand, feeling a breeze faintly blow by. But then it was his turn to lunge forward as he threw a punch right for Red Hood's head, which he blocked.

Alrighty then, boxing didn't seem to be working too well. Perhaps it was time to try something different. At least, that's what Bat-Joker intended to do, right before Red Hood suddenly dropped down. Leaning to one side, he stuck one leg out and swung it, kicking out Bat-Joker's feet from right underneath him. Eyes comically widening, Bat-Joker cried out as he fell to the ground, landing in a heap.

That's when Red Hood came leaping through the air, landing right on top of the masked vigilante, his legs straddling him. A hand grabbing him by the throat, the kid began punching him over and over, each blow hitting him in the face. Pain exploded throughout his face as Bat-Joker felt his head snapping to his right over and over. It was as if he would get hit, felt his cheek bounce off the sidewalk, and then turn back in time to rinse and repeat.

"How do you like this, ya Bat-wannabe!" Red Hood exclaimed as he hit him again.

That's when Bat-Joker shot a hand up, catching the fist, and stopping it dead in its tracks. "I think that's enough," he said in a deadly tone.

For a moment, Red Hood stared down at him with surprise, right before Bat-Joker let go of his hand and shot it up, grabbing onto the kid's shirt—his armored shirt as it turned out. Pulling him down, Bat-Joker then swung his head upward, headbutting Junior against the forehead. Stars exploded in his vision, causing the masked man to question why he went with a headbutt immediately after the fact.

However, this had the upside of causing Red Hood to fall off of him, coming to lay on the ground next to him. Quickly, scrambling to push himself up, Bat-Joker began crawling backwards, his back dragging against the ground, putting some distance between them. He came to an abrupt stop when his hand fell onto something, causing him to turn his head to look.

There his hand was, resting right on top of the crowbar. Curling his fingers around it, he took ahold of it before looking back to Red Hood.

By then, the kid was on his hands and knees, pushing himself up. However, the moment the guy caught sight of Bat-Joker, he suddenly threw himself forward, lunging to land right back on top of him. "Oof!" the older man gasped out.

"You're not getting away!" Red Hood cried out as he grabbed ahold of the straight horn on top of Bat-Joker's head. He pulled on it, attempting to pin the older man's head back and onto the ground. "I'm putting you down hard!"

However, that pulling pulled Bat-Joker's mask right off his head, exposing the Joker's pale face to the world. Again, the Joker felt his stomach sink as his identity was exposed for all to see for a second time.

As if that weren't enough, Red Hood stared at him as his mouth dropped open. "Holy shit, you're the—"

A blinding rage suddenly exploded within the Joker as his face twisted with fury. With a swing of his arm, he slammed the crowbar against the side of Red Hood's face. The kid cried out as he once again fell off from atop the clown.

However, instead of scrambling away, the Joker was flinging himself up, immediately throwing himself on top of the fallen Red Hood, pinning one shoulder down to the ground as he held his crowbar up high. "You little ingrate!" the Joker shouted as he swung the crowbar down, smashing it against the maggot's face.

"Get away!" Red Hood cried as he shot his other arm up, pushing the Joker back far enough so that he could then move his legs up, his knees reaching his chest as his feet pressed into the Joker's stomach. Kicking out, he forced the green-haired man back, causing him to actually fly up onto his feet as he stood at his full height.

That's when Red Hood shot a hand behind him, pulling out another gun. Before he had a chance to point it at him, the Joker swung his crowbar again, hitting the kid's hand and knocking the gun out of his grasp, a cry of pain tearing out of the youth's mouth as he instinctively grabbed his injured hand.

Grabbing the crowbar with both hands, the Joker held it high above his head, baring his teeth like an animal. "How dare you?!" he shouted before he swung the crowbar down, nailing the kid's chest. The kid cried out as his body began to curl into the fetal position.

Yet, the Joker wasn't done. Over and over, he raised the crowbar, only to swing it back down, hitting Red Hood against his face, chest, arms, whatever body part was visible. "Do!" Another swing. "You know!" Another swing. What!" Another. "This mask!" Another. "Is for?!"

"I was having a good night!" Another swing, another scream of pain. "Until you!" Another swing. "Took my mask off!" Another swing, another scream, blood flew into the air. "You're the second person!" Another hit. "To do that to me!" Another! "I will not be!" Another! "Disrespected like that!"

Blood flew up into the air with every swing he made. It spattered across the sidewalk, the side of the building next to him, reaching into the road. The Joker continued to shout at Red Hood, but he had lost all sense of what he was saying, only screaming with every swing. He was sure the punk was crying out in pain, but soon he couldn't hear that from the pounding in his ears.

Soon, his arms tired and he stopped. The night was silent save for the Joker's panting. Raising a hand, he rubbed it against his forehand to wipe off some sweat, only to feel something wetter and stickier smear against his skin. Frowning, he lowered his hand and saw on the back of it smeared blood.

Startled, the Joker looked down at the ground and saw a bloody mess of what once was Red Hood. His head was turned to a side, blood dripping from his mouth while some was smeared over his face, bruising starting to appear on his cheek. There was so much swelling too, which made his youthful face a caricature of itself. Because of his mask, there was no way to tell if his eyes were open or not.

Oh God. What had he done?

The Joker stumbled backwards, pressing a hand to his mouth to stop himself from vomiting. What had he done? What _had he done?!_ He...he had killed someone. He...the Bat-Joker...wearing Batman's mantle…

He had killed someone as the Batman.

Joker looked down at his costume and found it covered in blood. Droplets had covered his chest, arms, legs, basically his front. The blood was now dripping downwards, creating trails of blood down his black costume.

No, no, no. This was not how it was supposed to be! The Bat never killed! Never! Ever! And now there was blood on the symbol. "Why?" he croaked at Red Hood's broken, bleeding body. "Why did you make me do it? Why did you make me kill you?"

He raised a hand to run his fingers through his green hair. That gave him pause. Squeezing his fingers over and over, pulling on the strands of hair, something...a thought occurred to him.

His mask, it was off. His real identity as the Joker was fully exposed. That burst of anger, the vicious beating, the blood...the death...that had happened as his real self, not as Bat-Joker.

Did that mean…?

Yes...yes! He hadn't been the Bat! He had been the Joker when he killed the brat! The Bat didn't kill people, but the Joker was a homicidal maniac who had killed hundreds, maybe thousands. That's right! That nefarious Joker, with his charming smile and devilish good looks had killed Bloody Red Hood there.

That Bat Mantle remained clean of blood, ya know, except for the literal blood on it. He, of course, was speaking figuratively and probably metaphorically.

"Whew! That was a close one!" he exclaimed as he relaxed his body, shoulders sagging as he looked up into the night's sky. For some reason it was looking brighter, if not lovelier now.

And why wouldn't it? He had a dead body in front of him and he already knew who the culprit was. The case was closed even before it was opened! Let's see Batsy do that! With a skip in his step, he spun around and moved over to his mask, snatching it up off the ground and continued walking off, disappearing into the night.


	39. Blow The Bridges

The alert had been immediate, and for the first time, Nightwing had cause to use that tracker that he had told Red Robin about only recently. Oracle had given him the address, which the tracker confirmed, so on the bright side at least it worked.

Unfortunately, the first time he used it, it was already too late.

The street was a mess, unconscious bodies of living...crooks? He had no idea who these people were, but based on the fact that he knew that Red Hood intended to go it alone, the guy would try his luck against the criminal element sometime. What they were guilty of, he did not know, and right now that seemed unimportant.

The growing puddle of blood under the mauled body of the former Batclan member drew all the attention. Finally, Red Hood was the center of it, having all of Nightwing's undivided attention, but it was not in the way any of them had expected.

Red Robin was keeping an eye on their sixes, managing to hold it together while all Nightwing could do was stare, stare, _stare_ …

Red Hood...Jason was a crumpled mess, his body curling in on itself in a vain attempt to protect him. His face was one giant bruise with blood trickling from his nose and mouth and there was some fluid that had pooled in the one visible ear. The clothes were also drenched in blood, which meant that there were some kind of wounds beneath them. There were, however, no signs of any holes, so nothing like a knife or a gun was used.

Idly, he spotted a gun laying on the ground in his peripheral.

Based on what he could see, there were only a few ways that Jason could have...died. No holes meant no stabbing or gunshots were responsible. Outside of some weird health issue, or unknown weapon that you could imagine being from a movie, the only other possibility was that he was beaten. To death.

Damn it, he was not the investigative type. That was more Red Robin, but he was busy doing his job here. That left him to crouch onto his knees and bow his head, shutting his eyes tightly as powerful emotions welled within him.

Maybe there was more than one feeling in him, but the biggest one was anger. It was anger towards whoever had done this and it was to himself. He knew better. _He_ knew _better_ than to let Jason go off on his own. This was _why_ the Batclan had been formed; so that _this_ didn't happen.

It was so predictable that Jason wasn't going to give up the vigilante life. He had flat out refused Huntress when she had demanded his mask. He had hoped that the younger man would have called it a night after everything, but guess who was wrong. Of course he was out here, still trying to be a tough guy, but now with better fighting skills. Fat lot of good that did him.

From what Oracle had told him, there had been someone else here, someone who dressed up as Batman too. If what she had seen was to be believed, that someone was the Joker. A lot of questions there, but right now none of them were on his mind because deep down he knew that he didn't give a shit what they were. Because that lunatic had murdered Jason.

It didn't matter about the bad attitude, or how he rubbed people the wrong way, Jason did _not_ deserve this. No one did. But only the Joker would do something like this and not think twice.

They had to find him, to capture him, and bring him to justice for Jason's sake, if not for the hundreds if not thousands of people he had killed over the years. That's why they were crime fighters, to save those they could and bring closure to those they couldn't by bringing their perpetrators to justice.

Yet that didn't stop him from seeing his fists pounding the Joker's grinning face, punching and punching and sending blood and teeth all over the place. Make that bastard suffer for every life he had even taken, break every bone in his body so that he couldn't hurt anyone again.

His hand was beginning to hurt, taking him out of his thoughts. Why was...oh, he was clenching so tightly that his fist was starting to hurt. He knew a way to make it feel better…

"Nightwing? You alright?" Red Robin asked, his body turned in such a way that he was looking at the older vigilante from the corner of his eye, but also facing down the street. "Talk to me here."

Nightwing managed to suppress a bitter laugh. "No, no I'm not alright." His eyes were back on Jason's mangled body, burning the sight into his memory. He wasn't going to forget this, not for a very long time, if ever.

"You can't let this get to you," Red Robin said. "We can't stay here either. Not when just anybody can show up. We need to do something and we need to do it now. Let's come up with a plan, then do it."

A plan, yeah. They needed a plan. Nightwing knew what he wanted to do, but the sight of Jason's body urged for him to do something else. The kid was still in uniform with the outfit and mask he provided still on. That, and anything that was tucked away in his utility belt. They couldn't leave him with that gear still on, not unless they wanted to potential tip off anyone about them.

But, Jason needed to be here for the cops to find too. However, if the cops showed up and found him naked, there would be even more suspicions. Damn it, going off to find and beat up the Joker was looking like the easy thing to do, but it wasn't one anyone could do right now.

Deciding to throw it all to the wind—because after everything in the past few weeks, he was reaching his limit with all this shit—he scooped up the fallen vigilante and stood up, carrying him away from where he had died.

Red Robin looked like he wanted to say something, but he shut his mouth and said nothing. That was for the best, if only to calm down the turmoil wreaking havoc in Nightwing's mind. He'd allow himself to be tongue-lashed for disturbing a crime scene later; right now, it was to try and clean up a mess that he had allowed to happen.

Only later when Jason was laid to rest, when their struggling Network was still secure, and they were able to move forward, then he would accept and all consequences.

He was suppose to protect those that made up the Batclan. He was suppose to make sure that no matter what happened, anyone he fought crime with was going to be going home that night with no pains, or injuries. He had his successes and he had his failures. When would he learn his lesson and do what he was suppose to do?

When?

* * *

The car drove over one of the main bridges that connected Gotham to the mainland. Most of the city's infrastructure, from commercial to residential, and even industrial, contained itself on the island that was the heart of the city. There were sections on the mainland, of course, but for the sights and the symbols of the city, all could be found on that island surrounded by the Gotham River.

Currently, Gordon was riding shotgun, Sarah at the wheel chauffeuring him. It was a quiet time for the two of them, a moment to enjoy each other's company without needing to be focused on all the carnage around them. The Commissioner indulged himself for the time being, knowing how short such moments would be.

Once they reach their destination, it would be business, where he was her superior and she his subordinate. In the meantime, he could be her husband and enjoy their time together. Neither were big on small talk, which is why they both valued the quiet moments. When not at the station, being commissioner and lieutenant, the pair of them would go on drives, one of them at the wheel and the other enjoying the ride.

Sarah had a preference to be the driver and Gordon wasn't able to deny her that unless she occasionally offered. Otherwise, it was a silent agreement that she was the one with the keys.

As he reclined in his seat, Gordon gazed out the passenger side window and noted the sight of men and women in combat fatigues marching up the sides of the bridge. Some were carrying wooden blockades similar to the kind law enforcement used to block off streets. There were others he had spotted taking post at the midpoint of the bridge. It seemed like they were cordoning off the city and odds were that they were on the other bridges sans Pioneer.

He didn't need anymore evidence to say that the National Guard had arrived. Curious that they hadn't entered the city proper yet.

"It looks like they're coming in force," Sarah remarked.

As the mainland itself came into view, Gordon noticed a lot of activity in what looked like a former vacant lot. There were vehicles and tents being set up; obviously the Guard was staking this out to be a command post of sorts.

"I think that's where we need to head," he said, directing Sarah's attention to the tents.

Minutes later, they were pulling up, their car sticking out among all the military vehicles. While Sarah was turning off the engine, the Commissioner was already out and looking for someone to direct him to whomever was in charge here. He would like to meet with the man, or woman in some cases, and see about ironing out how they were going to do this.

The initial response he received was a demand to know who he was, something that could be corrected once he introduced himself. After that, it was an order to follow and soon enough, he was brought to further into what was starting to look like a military encampment.

As his side, Sarah kept in step with him while the followed after the Guard soldier. The soldier looked young, but held that military swagger that seemed to come natural to anybody who happened to remain in the military long enough. They eventually came to a stop in front of a man who wore the same combat fatigues at the rest of the Guard, but unlike them, he had patches on his shoulders that revealed his status as an officer.

Based on Gordon's knowledge of ranks, this man had to be someone of high rank. Lieutenant didn't seem to be high enough based on the symbols on the shoulder patch. Was he a colonel? Higher than that?

"General, sir, Commissioner James Gordon of the Gotham City police is here to see you," their guide announced in a very loud voice, one that had Gordon almost wincing at the volume. There was a part of him that didn't like to be...announced. It was just a personal preference.

"That'll be all, soldier. I'll handle this," the general answered, dismissing their guide. The glasses-wearing commissioner took in a thin, handlebar mustache and the graying hair that peeked along the sides of the cap he wore. Four stars featured prominently on the front of the cap, just over its brim.

"And you are?" Gordon asked, holding out a hand for a shake.

The general accepted it, grasping it tightly. Maybe too tightly as the Commissioner could have sworn the blood circulation in his hand was being cut off. "General Wade Eiling. I have command here, Commissioner."

"I wasn't aware that the National Guard had generals," Gordon remarked, breaking off the handshake.

"There's a lot people don't know about that National Guard," Eiling replied. "But I doubt that's why you're here."

Gordon nodded. "I wanted to touch base and see about putting together a plan."

"Not necessary," Eiling replied. "We have everything under control here." Already, he was walking away, heading towards a table in which a map of the city was placed. There were markings on it that for the moment meant nothing to Gordon, even when he got a good look at it as he followed after the general.

"You haven't even heard what I have to say," Gordon pressed.

"Let me be quick about this. We don't have the time to be standing around and talking the day away," Eiling cut him off. "Your boys have been doing the best job they can under the circumstances and don't think we don't appreciate that. However, the Guard is in charge now and we have a way of handling problems like these."

"What way would that be?" Sarah spoke up.

"You are?" Eiling demanded instead.

"Lieutenant Sarah Gordon," the Commissioner introduced.

Eiling barely gave a nod, his sharp eyes boring into his wife. "I don't have the time right now to give you a full answer, Lieutenant. I will politely ask that you stand aside and do not get in my way. I have full discretion to handle this situation in whatever way I see fit, and I have my orders to do everything necessary to neutralize it."

"We're on the same side. We need to work together," Gordon cut in, hoping to avoid any back and forth.

"And I am the man in charge here, not you, Commissioner," Eiling retorted. "If you want to be helpful, stay out of my way and let me handle this."

"With all due respect," Gordon began again, only for Eiling to ignore him in favor of another soldier approaching him. The Commissioner trailed off in time to hear the soldier say, "The charges are all set up and ready, Sir."

"Tell the men to detonate as soon as they're clear," Eiling ordered, the soldier saluting and leaving the tent.

"Detonate what?" Gordon asked, feeling lost and not liking it for a moment. Eiling here didn't seem to care, or feel the need to inform the Commissioner about what the hell was going on. It was like the two of them had shown up in the middle of something. What that something was, he had no clue, but he wanted to know right now what it was.

"You might want to cover your ears," Eiling recommended, matching actions to words as he turned to the sight of the very bridge the GCPD officers had crossed minutes ago.

Without warning, there was a loud boom, prompting Gordon to slam his hands over his ears despite the fact that both were ringing loudly. Spinning around, he caught sight of the last traces of flames and a lot of black smoke enveloping the middle of the bridge. He wasn't sure, thanks to the ringing in his ears, but there could have been a low groan that occurred right before the middle of the bridge collapsed, falling into the river below it.

"What the hell!" Gordon demanded, feeling the pavement shake beneath his feet. The ringing in his ears were coming to an end and as he lowered his hands, he barely made out more booming sounds. Looking over his shoulder and further down the river, he saw another bridge covered in smoke seconds before it too collapsed. "What the hell do you think you're doing!?"

"All intelligence confirms that Bane is on the island," Eiling stated, speaking as if he was talking about the weather. "We're quarantining him there and giving him no way off. With no way to bring in supplies, we'll starve him out while engaging in planned assaults to break him down."

"But there are people still over there! My men are still over there!" He emphasized his points with a wild arm gesture towards the island.

"I'm sorry, but I did not want to tip Bane off to my intentions. Your men and the people over there will have to weather this out," Eiling replied. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an operation to plan and request that you stand down. You're no longer in charge, so find yourself some lodgings and wait until we come back with the all clear."

"You can't do this!" the Commissioner protested.

"I already have and objections have been noted," the General stated before gesturing for a passing soldier to come over. "Private, escort these officers off the premises."

"Yes sir!" the soldier saluted before turning to the two law enforcement officers. "This way, Sir, Ma'am."

"What are you planning, Eiling!? You can't leave me out of this!" Gordon demanded, attempting to approach the General only for the soldier to block him off with his arm. "Tell me!"

Eiling, however, wasn't giving him the time of day. With a simple gesture, he non-verbally repeated his order for the two Gordons to be escorted away. All the while, the Commissioner could only helplessly demand information that he wasn't going to be given.

* * *

It was impossible not to hear the explosions. Unfortunately, Bane could not look into it himself. Thus, he sent out Bird to scout it out while he saw to another of his projects.

The location was a closed down building, wooden boards nailed against the windows in a vain attempt to protect the glass. Graffiti painted the outside walls, various gangs claiming it as their respective turfs. The gangs were no longer an issue, so the building itself was free to claim.

Inside, the structure had been hollowed out. Once, it had manufactured cups, or so he had been told; the assembly line equipment had been removed, either put away, or sold off. Nevertheless, it left the interior empty, dust and cobwebs attempting to fill the void left behind.

It was here that Tetch claimed would be the prime location to begin construction. Of the men he had loaned to this Mad Hatter, they were either cleaning the floors, or securing the premises. At one end of the building was a large circle drawn, next to it an assortment of blueprints and measuring tools. To Bane, this operation didn't look like much and that was why he was here. It was inspection time and he wanted to know of the progress.

Before he could get into that, though, Bird was calling in to report.

" _Looks like the blew the bridges, Bane. I'm having Talon do a fly around, and it looks like all of them have been blown, minus that one that had the tree break through it. They must be getting desperate if that is what they're doing._ "

The loss of the bridges was concerning, but not a lethal blow. All that was taken was a land route for additional supplies and rations. However, supply lines had been entrusted to another and it would be to them to find a way around it.

" _Oh, and this gets better. They have boats in the water and it looks like they're making a blockade with them,_ " Bird continued to report.

A blockade at sea as well as the termination of the land routes? Another concern to add to the growing list of them.

"Keep me posted on any new developments," he ordered. Now he could direct his attention to other matters. "Tetch, status report."

Said man jumped where he stood, having taken his post nearby and had been busy fidgeting with his hat in his hands. Tetch was still intimidated by him—good. For his own sake, he needed to stay that way and not risk the masked man's wrath.

"Oh! S-status? Right, status. Ahem." The fiddling with the hat increased. "We've lucked out with the location. It has the perfect dimensions, affords a lot of space, and is reasonably private. As you can see, I've marked off where I am to begin construction on the device that you have commissioned me to build."

That explained the circle. As Tetch had spoken, they had moved closer to it, and even though all Bane saw was a circle, who knew what that little mind in that little man saw. Crouching down, Tetch scooped up some of the blueprints that had lain there and held them up to the masked man.

"This is my vision. Based on your needs as you have illuminated me of, as well as the ends this machine is to meet, I have planned out as much as I could in the available time you have given me and I do believe that this is what the end product shall appear as."

Bane, for the most part, began to tune Tetch out as he studied the blueprints. Contrary to what most would expect, these designs were very straightforward, dimensions were easily read, and it was not at all chaotic. That didn't mean Bane understood everything on them; while he had passing knowledge of engineering, it was not on the level that Tetch's was.

What he was looking at was so advanced, it easily destroyed whatever confidence he held in his own engineering abilities. Then again, there was only so much one could do reading only from books, but never truly applying the knowledge outside of a prison metal shop.

Bird had struck gold here with this new recruit.

Tetch had been rambling the whole time, so Bane had to interrupt him with a short, "When can you begin construction?"

"Immediately, my brawny friend." Rummaging his hand through the blueprints, the shorter man slipped out a regular, eight by eleven piece of white paper, a long list of words that described various materials that were needed. "These are what I need to not only start, but complete this little endeavor of ours—yours, excuse me."

Snatching the paper away, Bane made a show of reading the list, recognizing some of the items on the list, but not others. "I will get you these materials and you will begin work immediately."

"Of course, and if you don't mind me saying, it is a pleasure to work with someone who truly appreciate my vision—"

"For. You work _for_ me. Not _with_ me," Bane interrupted, focusing his gaze on the little man.

"Ye...Yes, of course," Tetch said, shrinking in on himself.

Folding the list and pocketing it, Bane turned away and began to make his way out of the building. He had calls to make, and even though the news of recent events were making him reevaluate his current strategies, they would not make him halt all operations.

He was far from finished with his conquest.

* * *

Curious. Ra's gazed at the rising clouds of smoke at the periphery of the city.

The thunderous blasts had captured his attention moments before the violent tremors had shaken his lair. His men had set out to ensure the building's stability while others automatically went out to investigate the source of the explosions. Ubu had positioned himself to the right and behind his master as a faithful manservant should.

Which left Ra's gazing out the window as he had done many times since his arrival in this room. Considering how strong the tremors were and the distance from which the smoke was rising, he estimated powerful explosives had been used, if not a large quantity. Taking into account there were multiple smoke clouds rising up into the sky, and perhaps this latest development was a combination of multiple explosions going off simultaneously.

"Father," Talia called out to him, causing the Eternal Man to tilted his head to a side to regard his daughter from the corner of his eye.

"Our scouts have returned," the beautiful woman informed him as she approached, coming to stand behind and off to his left. Turning to fully face her, Ra's gazed at her expectantly.

"The bridges to the city have been blown. Effectively, Gotham has been sealed off from the outside world."

This news did not faze the Demon's Head in the least. He had suspected such a thing had occurred and was confirmed with this news. However, he was certain this was not a move devised by the city officials. There had been no news of their flight from the city preceding this development. Like frightened rats, they would've scurried to safety long before the first charges had been placed.

"Who was behind this?" he questioned.

"Early reports indicate it was the U.S. Government. Their National Guard unit is positioned on the opposite bank of the river surrounding Gotham."

The National Guard? No, they were not the ones behind this. The National Guard was reserve duty for part-time warriors. Nowhere in their charter were they allowed to decimate infrastructure. No, there was something else behind this and they were using the National Guard as a cover for their actions.

Ra's could certainly appreciate the tactic. In this context, the U.S. National Guard had been appropriately deployed due to the events in Gotham being a domestic affair. Using full military might was not protocol in these situations, not to mention the perception of a federal entity using its military potentially against its own citizens. In dictatorships, these was no issue, but not when a government had painstakingly crafted a story of equal representation and protectorship.

It seemed there was a shadow following him.

That could be dealt with later. All this had done was expose their presence, one that Ra's could uproot at his leisure. None of them stood as great of a threat as Bane did currently. Once the masked man was terminated, then Ra's could see to it that his existence returned to the shadows, a threat upon hushed whispers.

"Master, does this not pose a problem?" Ubu asked, distress clear in his voice. "How will our support and supplies reach us?"

"As it always has, as it always shall," Ra's intoned. Considering the Demon's Fang had not been using Gotham's bridges to bring in their forces and supplies, the U.S. government's move hardly mattered to him.

However, the arrival of his special agent was most likely what Ubu was referring to. Once again, Ra's was not concerned. If something as trivial as a destroyed bridge was enough to stop his agent, then they were not worthy of serving the Demon's Head.

"But Master!" Ubu protested. "Surely the Americans will restrict the airspace to this city and form a blockade around the seat routes. We are effectively cut off!"

"I believe you sell our agent short, Ubu. You of all should know that I only request the presence of those of great skill and guile. Your doubt in my judgement is displeasing."

Immediately, Ubu took to one knee, prostrating himself. "Forgive me, Master. I only wished to convey the difficulty that would present itself to your chosen. I did not mean to offend."

"I would certainly hope not, Right Hand of the Demon. Many had been slain for lesser offenses."

Ra's could not help the smirk that appeared on his face at the sound of the new, feminine voice. Ubu's eyes widened before he shot up onto his feet and whipped around, coming face to face with his better.

There was a humored look on her Asian features, her face more visible considering her recently cut, dark hair. The last time Ra's had set his sights upon her, her hair had been much longer. It seemed she had felt a change was necessary.

With a grace the Eternal Man had not seen in no other, the woman glided around Ubu and came to stand before him, one of the few people Ra's would allow without the proper deference administered. _She_ had earned the right to stand before him as an equal. The blood that metaphorically stained her hands was equal to his own in a much shorter time span.

The red material of her body suit, framed by a dark trench coat, matched her passion. "I was wondering how long it would be before you summoned me," she spoke with bemusement.

"Lady Shiva," Ra's returned her greeting, bowing his head with respect. "I hope I had not inconvenienced you."

"As a matter of fact, you had not. I am between jobs as it were."

Meaning she had yet to find that which she sought. "Then perhaps I can aid you in your quest." Without turning away from her, he held a hand out to gesture to the window behind him. "There is a man in this city calling himself Bane. He has proven to be a very capable opponent since my arrival in this city."

This news did not phase the Lady. "And you wish for me to dispose of him."

"Not quite. I desire to deliver the fatal stroke. What I require of you involves one of his latest schemes. Recently, Bane has begun recruiting those outside of his organization, namely the refuge this city has produced. Men that have challenged even the Detective are joining his side and I wish to send a message that no matter whom he recruits, none are greater than those of the Demon's Fang."

For a moment, Lady Shiva's eyes sharpened. "The Detective, you say? Intriguing."

Ra's internally smiled. He knew he had her full attention. "May I assume you will accept?"

"Do I not anyways?" The Lady took a step towards him, coming to stand mere inches away. "What am I expecting to face?"

"For now, a serial killer that has proven himself capable of striking down my assassins. Dispose of him however you see fit."

"I shall be taking some of your men with me."

There was a slight twitch to Ra's face, one that would have formed a frown had he not immediately stilled his features. Lady Shiva was known for working alone and never with others. This request was unusual.

However, she had never failed him, so he saw no harm in lending her the use of his men. "Take all you need," he told her. "I look forward to your success."

"And I look forward to your latest challenge." Lady Shiva then took a step back and rose her hands up, pressing the fist of one into the palm of the other. She then bowed, delivering her respect before she righted herself and turned to leave.

Ra's merely turned to gaze out the window again. "Now then, Bane, let's see how you respond to the Destroyer of Worlds."

* * *

"What the hell are those blokes thinkin'?! Are they completely bonkers?!"

Cobblepot was not in a pleasant mood this evening, and it all had to do with those godforsaken bridges. By now, he knew about Gotham being cut off from the rest of the world, and he had gotten word about the blockade being formed at sea. Someone was going to the extremes here, but the only takeaway from all this was that this was going to be bad for business.

He had marketed himself as someone who could get things for certain people and now that many of his smuggling routes were blocked off, that presented a huge problem for him. How the hell was he going to keep supplying his biggest customers with the toys they needed and in the quantities they wanted?

"Who's bright idea was this? Who possibly believes that this is goin' ta help in any way, shape, or form?" he continued to rant, swinging an arm out and cleaning off the surface of a large, mahogany-based desk. Papers, knickknacks, and other business-related devices fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

Naturally, when it rains, it pours. Ms. Lark happened to have a phone with her and her next words were not ones he wanted to hear. "Mr. Cobblepot, a Mr. Bane is on the line and wants to speak with you."

Would someone shoot him and put him out of his misery? The big brute was probably calling about the damn bridges, but damn it, there was nothing he could do about it! This was something that was out of his hands!

Still, like a proper businessman, he composed himself as much as he could while holding out a hand for the phone. It wouldn't do to keep a customer waiting while he threw a bit of a tantrum.

"What can I do for ya?" he spoke with as much of an upbeat tone as he could manage.

" _I have a need for your contacts, Cobblepot,_ " that deep, Hispanic voice went straight to the heart of the matter.

Of course, what else could it be. "There may be some...delays with gettin' you what ya need this time," the squat man said frankly. Best to be upfront, get the anger out of the way, then do the real business. Emotions could only get in the way of a long-lasting partnership. "Someone decided they wanted in on the big leagues and blew up every single bridge in the city."

" _I am aware of current events. That does not change the nature of my call,_ " Bane cut in. Obviously, this was a man that accepted no excuses. " _I am in need of materials and am hiring you to see that my needs are met._ "

"Right. What do ya need this time? More guns? There's been—"

" _Not weapons, Cobblepot. Building materials._ "

This not only caused the Penguin to pause, but also frown. This was certainly not what he was expecting. In fact, he had the expectation that he was only going to be used to smuggle some high-grade weaponry for the hulking bloke to cause chaos throughout Gotham. This, on the other hand, was something entirely different.

"Depends, what kind o'...building material do ya want?" Best to start expanding and diversifying while he could.

He was quick to grab a pen and start writing as much as he could, because Bane certainly wasn't waiting for him to be ready. More than once, he had to ask how one of these things were spelled, 'cause he had never heard of some of this stuff before. Why did Bane want it in the first place?

Eventually getting it all down, Cobblepot read over the mess, trying to figure out the method to the madness in it. He was going to have to do a lot of research too if he wanted to know where he could get it all and then get it into the city. With the bridges out and some armed seacraft blocking the port, it wasn't going to be easy. In fact, he made a comment about it.

" _If you are serious about remaining as my supplier, you will find a way to get me what I want without whining about it. If you want my money, you will prove yourself worthy of it._ "

"Un...Understood," Cobblepot said grudgingly, wincing as the the call ended abruptly. Then he took his welling anger out on the phone by slamming it on his desk. "Who does he think I am? I can't work miracles!"

Lark, to her credit, remained silent, the smart minx. It allowed the monocle-wearing man time to think.

If he wanted to remain in the game, he was going to have to get creative. After all this work to get into a position where he had both ears of Gotham's newest criminal and the commissioner of the police force, he wasn't about to give it all up before he reached his endgame. There had to be a way to do this, there just had to be.

It took some time, time that required quite a bit of pacing, reevaluating his usual routes, weighing their merits, then going over what he himself had available. He had Lark go on and see what she could do with his contacts about getting Bane's order in the works; that way he could focus on the task of getting it in here.

Yes, the city proper was cut off and so was the port, but there had to be other ways either around, or through them. He just needed to find and exploit them like nobody's business.

There was no way he was going to lose this, no way in hell.

* * *

To FlackAttack: You were half-right, though I think I'd take your money


	40. Shiva The Destroyer

To draw out a wolf, one needed sheep as bait. Shiva had requested such bait and Ra's al Ghul had not disappointed.

Of course, these sheep were highly-trained and lethal. These were not men expected to be slaughtered. So she used them accordingly.

There was a small congregation of Bane's men taking refuge at a basketball court. It was a rendezvous point for them, one the Demon's Fang had been keeping tabs on. This was a perfect locale to draw out her quarry, a wide open expanse to reveal the assassins as they took on the mercenaries. While she expected this serial killer, this Zsasz, to stay in the shadows and strike just as they were leaving, she at least had the benefit of shrinking Bane's forces further.

Walking down the sidewalk casually, arms swaying at her sides, Shiva stepped onto the cement court, gazing at the rough-looking men. One took notice of her, which drew the attention of the other men shortly after.

"Hey, chica," one of them wolf-whistled her. "What brings a sweet thing like you here?"

Shiva just smiled at them, drawing them closer to her. Like the hot-blooded men they were, they began to approach her, forming a semi-circle around her. "What brings me here?" she asked them coyly.

She eyed one of the men, a familiar, lustful look on his face. Why was it all men took on this look? It was leering and rather unpleasant to look at. Still, it provided her with an opportunity. Stepping to this men, her welcoming expression still on her face, she then leaned to him as she softly whispered, "Your blood."

Fast as lightning, she shot a hand up, her last two fingers curled into her palm as her first two and thumb form a talon-like formation. Her strike hit the man against his throat, her fingers digging into his larynx. As fast as she struck, she pulled back, ripping the larynx out as blood sprayed over her.

"Gaahhhahyyaahhh!" the mercenary gargled as his hands gripped at his throat, dropping to his knees, then collapsed to the ground. There was a gasp from the other men as they all jumped backwards, whipping out their firearms as they took aim at her.

"Fry this bitch!" one of them roared.

That was when metal struck against metal, flying ninja stars colliding with the guns and knocking them out of the mercenaries' hands. Their cries of pain and surprise were a sweet melody to her ears.

That was when the assassins came rushing in, appearing almost as if from nowhere. Brandishing swords, they came in slicing, cutting up three of the mercenaries in the first wave. Blood sprayed through the air as men screamed.

By then, the remaining mercenaries had drawn out their secondary weapons, knives and handguns. Immediately, the pistols fired, striking two of the assassins, dropping them to the ground. Another mercenary threw himself at an assassin, knife in hand, only to impale himself on a sword. However, he did not go down alone as he drove his knife into the assassin's eye, the two men falling to the ground with the dying mercenary landing on top of the screaming assassin.

Darting her eyes to one of the gun-wielding mercenaries, Shiva saw the man had turned his weapon towards her. Seeing the barrel, Shiva glided to a side just as the gun fired, the bullet flying by her harmlessly. She then swayed in the opposite direction as the mercenary jerked his gun to point at her again, once more firing a shot that missed her.

That was all the shots he had time for. Having closed the distance between them, Shiva shot a hand up, her palm striking the bottom of the gun and forcing it upward. Another bullet was fired, but it sailed high into the air.

Shiva's right foot slid across the concrete, the dragging of dirt grains roughly scraping the cement court. Her body turned so that her profile faced the man and as one fluid moment, she thrust a palm strike with her right hand. Her palm collided with the man's nose, crushing it, and forcing the cartilage up into the mercenary's brain. Blood exploded out of his nostrils, gushing like geysers as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he dropped into a heap on the ground.

A war cry sounded off and Shiva lazily turned her head to see a knife-holding mercenary charging at her, knife held in a reverse grip up in the air and threatening to stab her with a downward motion.

Patiently, Shiva waited for the stab, which came. However, the knife never touched her. It stopped perhaps an inch or two away, mostly because she had moved her hand to catch it. Her palm was pressed up against the side of the cold steel, her fingers wrapping around the back of the knife, creating her hold.

Holding her arm up like that, she coolly watched the man pause, then drew his free hand back, throwing a punch at her face. Moving her head to her left and subsequently raising the knife—and the man's arm—upward, she dodged the fist as it sailed over her shoulder and right by her head.

That's when she struck. Thrusting a palm strike upward, her palm hit just above the elbow of the mercenary's knife-wielding arm, forcing it to hyper-extend. The force she had hit the arm proved to be too much for it to withstand as the bone immediately snapped, a jagged piece ripping through flesh, muscle, and cloth. She could see the broken bone pointing up out of the arm as fresh blood began pouring out of the wound.

The mercenary screamed as his fingers spasmed, releasing his knife, giving her sole possession of it. Extending her knife-holding hand out and away, she flipped the weapon with practiced ease until she fingers wrapped around the knife's hilt. Pushing the broken arm further upward, Shiva then stepped towards her foe and drove the knife into his armpit.

The man's screams came to a choked end even as she quickly drew the knife out of his body. Feet sliding across the cement ground, she spun around the man until her back faced his. Drawing the knife up in front of her face, she once more flipped the knife in her grasp until she held it in a reverse grip. Then she swung her arm out and to her side, driving the knife into the back of the man's neck, severing the spinal cord, and the corpse dropped to the ground.

Letting go of the knife's hilt, she then turned around to face the rest of the battle. As expected, Ra's assassins were fighting with all of their might against the mercenaries, though there were casualties on both sides.

That's when she saw it. There was a flash of skin and metal and an assassin went stiff before he fell to the ground. Due to the fighting, Shiva could not see the source, so she sidestepped, moving until she saw between two struggling mercenaries as they each held off an assassin.

As had been described to her, a bald man stood there, his body riddled with scores of tally marks. Even now, the man was cutting another one into his flesh, a look of bliss on his face.

It would seem the wolf had emerged to collect her sheep.

* * *

You could've heard the sound of a pin drop. Dick hadn't given much thought to what that meant, but he knew what it meant now.

The Network, the rest of them, sat in sheer silence. Harper and Stephanie were in shock, unable to process what they had just heard. Green Arrow had his head bowed, a sign of respect for the lost and grieving. Huntress had her face buried in one of her hands, so it was hard to tell what she looked like. Katana was staring into space, the same with Black Canary. Manhunter was visibly upset and didn't seem sure how she should be reacting.

There was no point in looking at Tim. He already had time to process what had happened to Jason, even seeing his body. This was for the others.

"Damn that clown," Huntress said, earning herself the attention of the room. "It's always him, isn't it? No matter what we do, no matter what we build, he always has to come around and destroy it." She suddenly slapped her hand down on the table, revealing the fury on her face while causing Harper and Stephanie to flinch from the sudden bang. "Not this time. We need to hunt that son of a bitch down _tonight._ "

"Agreed," Manhunter agreed.

"You're talking about the Joker here," Tim...Red Robin interjected. "This isn't Hugo Strange or Two-Face; this is the guy that's blown Gotham up multiple times."

"Your point?" Huntress snapped. "He's hurt us in the most terrible way possible. You can't possibly say we should let him get away with that."

"No, not at all. We just need to be careful is all."

"What does it matter?" Nightwing spoke up, silencing the conversation. His voice was raspy, though he wasn't sure as to how that was. It wasn't like he had been crying his eyes out, or anything like that. It didn't make sense really, but that was just the way it was. "Any of this, I mean. We've been fighting for so long against the worst Gotham has and look at what happened. Jason's dead." He looked down to his hands, which were stained with the boy's dried blood. "He's dead and we all played a part in it. We...I...I shouldn't have allowed him to wear a mask, or given him training, or let him leave the fucking bunker when he did. This...this…"

It was as if whatever anger Huntress had muster drained out of her, leaving only a subdued woman in her place. "That may have been best, but it's too late to change it now," she murmured.

"There's a lot of coulda-wouldas here," Green Arrow spoke then, raising his head for the first time in awhile. "And this hurts—alot. But...Jason...he wanted to help this city and it would be a failure on our part to let what happened to him freeze us in place. We need to press on because that is what he'd want."

Press on, huh? That was easy for him to say, he didn't get a kid killed. The entire time Dick had spent with Jason flashed before his eyes and he could easily pinpoint any number of times he could've ended the kid's training. Instead he allowed him to flounder about until he ran headfirst into the worst psychopath he could find. He should have shut him down the moment he had found Stephanie's costume. He should have beaten him back and blue until he couldn't move for days, if not weeks later so that he would lose interest. He should've called his bluff and had Oracle set up a scenario that disproved his claim at every turn. Goddamn it, why did he not do any of this?!

"What do you propose then, Arrow?" Huntress questioned. "This isn't something you just set on the back-burner and forget about."

"Well, the bridges getting blown up would be a good start," he suggested.

As if they didn't have enough on their plate already. Out of the blue, every single bridge connecting Gotham to the outside world had been blown to pieces. There was no way in or out of the city, which left them with a rather large problem.

They were facing at least two different factions vying for control of Gotham and any outside help was effectively no longer an option. Throw in a few million panicked Gothamites and you had a powder keg ready to blow.

And now there was Jason…

"It's not like we were getting any help to begin with," Huntress responded, pulling Nightwing out of his dark thoughts. "You're the only one that's come, so as far as us getting additional help, yeah, that wasn't going to happen. Now, us getting supplies will be a problem. We're effectively running with what we have left on the ground."

"Which isn't much to begin with," Manhunter added. "We were already down a few of our weapons. I haven't gotten a replacement staff and Katana's sword is one nasty bend away from being broken. Then there's all the throwing stars and grapple lines and other knickknacks we use on a nightly basis. And I'm not even including Green Arrow's arrows, or the trick ones he uses."

"We'll just have to come up with a new supply line," Black Canary spoke then. "If there's anyone that can, it's Oracle."

" _Thanks for your vote of confidence,"_ Barbara responded. " _I'm looking into a few options, but unfortunately it'll take some time."_

"I wonder," Bluebird said then. "Why did the bridges blow? I mean, who did it and why? It doesn't really make any sense."

That was actually a good question and one Barbara hadn't gotten them an answer for just yet. Dick had been doing his best to not speculate as to the exact reason because there were just too many to choose from. Bane could have done it, but he didn't see the reason why. It didn't make sense for him to do it since he needed supplies and men just like they did. Ra's al Ghul, on the other hand, was fully capable of it if only to starve Bane out, but if his claim of wanting to protect Gotham was true, then destroying the infrastructure was counter-intuitive. He doubted the Phantasm had the needed firepower, not to mention his motivation was to kill a selected target.

However, if there was someone that it made sense for, it was the Joker. Murder and mayhem were right up his alley and the bridges were right out of his playbook. If he was a betting man, that's where he'd put his money on.

"That's something we're going to have to find out," Red Robin eventually said, answering Bluebird's question. "It's too early to make assumptions at this point, not without proof. That's at least something Batman would do."

"If there was ever a time we needed him, it's this," Nightwing mumbled out.

There was a quiet moment before Manhunter cleared her throat. She sounded uncomfortable and that struck Nightwing's curiosity.

"I'm probably not the best person to bring this up," she began, sounding them out. "But all this time, we've kept asking ourselves what would Batman do, how he would handle this situation and all. It's got me thinking and maybe I'm not the only one who has, but what if we bring up a new Batman?"

There was dead silence at that before Red Robin questioned, "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, there's been all of these people putting on Batman costumes. Hugo Strange did it. The Joker apparently is too. They're obviously trying to do something with Batman's cowl, so why aren't we? Why hasn't one of us put on the cowl?"

"Because none of us are Batman," Huntress immediately interjected.

"You're right that none of us can be him, but you can't deny the power of his symbol," Manhunter quickly amended. "The bad guys have already realized this. Maybe we need to too."

"I won't hear it. No one is putting on that damn cowl," the purple-clad woman growled lowly.

"She does raise a point," Katana softly pointed out.

A sickening feeling was welling up within Nightwing as he heard those words. Replace Batman? Should they? Manhunter was right that everyone else had been invoking the Bat Symbol—all but them. The impact was felt every single time it became so much as a whisper.

So why did he feel sick just considering this idea?

One look at Huntress told anyone just how she felt about that idea. It was a little surprising that Katana was quietly backing up the idea. Thankfully, the next person was Black Canary and she was at least civil about the whole thing.

"Let's consider this pragmatically," she said then. "Most of the people here are women, so unless a Batwoman is an acceptable alternative, all we know for certain is that a man wearing the cowl will have the same impact as the original. So we have three options in Nightwing, Red Robin, and Green Arrow.

"Right there, we need to cross off Arrow. He has his own city to take care of and he can't keep wearing the cowl for the rest of his life. No offense to you, Red Robin, but you're too young and you don't have the same body type as Batman. So if there's anyone that can wear it, it's…"

Canary purposefully trailed off as everyone turned their heads towards Dick. If he was already feeling sick, his stomach nearly exploded from nausea. Considering the lack of objection from the other two Bat-candidates, it was clear he was the only one even being considered. With this bombshell landing in his lap and Jason's death...

It was too much.

Dick shot out of his seat, knocking it over in the process. He didn't look at the others and rushed out of the room as fast as he could, short of running.

Be Batman? He couldn't be Batman. He couldn't even protect one of his own kids much less step into those shoes. The burden was too great and he wasn't the man for it.

* * *

It did not bother Shiva that there were obstacles before her. In fact, she preferred as many as possible to attempt impeding her. It made for a greater challenge.

Fate, however, removed those obstacles this time. As if the fighting around her was cognizant of the impending clash before her and her latest objective, the assassins and mercenaries parted before her, creating a direct path to Zsasz. Strolling forward, she approached the man, seeing the man in his entirety.

Zsasz caught sight of her and his eyes focused right on her. The battle might as well have not existed around him, so consuming was his attention. She knew the look in his eyes all too well. He saw her and desire had washed over him. However, unlike Bane's men earlier, this was not lust of the body, but the desire for dominance. He had seen something in her that fed his urge, his obsession with death. She was his latest target.

She would not be his latest victim, however.

"Like a lamb to the slaughter," he breathed as he began to move towards her, shrinking the distance between them even faster. "I know exactly where your mark will go, zombie."

She saw the thrust for her face coming long before he did it. Gracefully, she turned her body so that her profile faced him, the knife passing by her face, its steel glimmering in the light of the street lamps.

Then her hand was rising up, fingers wrapping around the bald man's wrist. With a twist, Zsasz's hand turned into an awkward angle, causing the man to contort his body into a bizarre pose, leaning backwards as if that would remove the strain on his arm, though his face said it had not.

As fast as lightning and with the crack of thunder, Shiva form a fist with her other hand and shot it towards her prey, slamming it right into his face. Letting go of his wrist, she allowed the man to stumble backwards a couple steps as he gripped his bruised face with one hand, holding his knife defensively between them to keep her from attacking hastily. Shiva held back, watching with amusement as she kept her profile towards him.

Dropping his hand from his face, Zsasz gazed at her, his eyes still alight with longing. "Yes, resist. Fight back as long as you can. It will only make the mark all that much more satisfying."

"I am no mark," Shiva told him, losing some of her humor about this fight. A predator was only entertaining for so long. Usually it was their limited verbal repertoire that rob her of her enjoyment. "I am greater than that."

"You are a zombie and nothing more," the scarred man retorted as he once more assumed an offensive stance, creeping towards her slowly, cautiously. "You live a life of the mundane, trapped in perpetual—"

Shiva was like a blur as she struck. Pivoting on one foot, she fully faced the man as she darted towards him, shooting her left hand up, fingers curled inward, palm prominent. As her palm rose upward and collided with Zsasz's hand, she forced it upward, leaving the man completely defenseless. With her right hand, she had all of her fingers stiffened and straight, thumb curled into the palm. She crossed her hand over her chest just before she lashed out with it, delivering a chop to Zsasz's throat and silencing him as he choked and gagged from the blow.

Leaning backwards, Shiva put all of her weight on one leg as she rose the other one up high, keeping it bent at the knee. As her body tilted to one side, she then snapped her leg out, landing a kick to Zsasz's chest and sending hims stumbling backwards several steps.

Shiva held her ground even as she lowered her leg back to the ground. Her face was a mask of emotionless stone, empty to feeling. There was no glory, or honor to be found here.

Zsasz came to a stop several feet from her, a hand wrapped around his throat as he fought for air. It took him several moments, but once he had sufficiently recovered, a look of rage appeared on his face. "You…" he growled.

"Are beyond you, worm," the woman coolly finished for him. "Call me what you will: a mark, a zombie, I do not care. I am none of those things. I am become Death, the Destroyer of Worlds.

"And now I will destroy yours."

An animalistic roar came from Zsasz as he charged at her. Shiva's arms began dancing in front of her in a familiar kata. Zsasz thrust his knife at her, her forearm blocking the strike. Pulling back, Zsasz immediately stabbed at her again and again, Shiva's weaving arms blocking, pushing aside, and stopping each slash and thrust. Each failed cut frustrated Zsasz as he grew more frenzied with every attack.

Shiva worried not. She saw all.

At the last moment, when another thrust was coming for her face, the woman countered, delivering a palm strike to his hand. This caused Zsasz to lose his grip on the blade and send it flipping high into the air.

With the same hand, Shiva grabbed onto Zsasz's wrist and held tight even as she spun to a side. Soon, the back of her head felt the man's arm press against it, the elbow just by her ear. Jerking her head backwards and her hand forward, she hyper-extended the arm against her skull until she heard a snap as bone was broken.

Immediately, Zsasz was screaming as his unjuried arm shot up to grab at his broken arm. His concern for his well-being was his downfall. Quickly lifting up one leg, Shiva shot it downwards, stomping on the side of his ankle, forcing it to bend at an awkward angle until there too was a snap. Zsasz dropped to a knee to relieve the pain that was undoubtedly racing up his leg and burning throughout his foot.

Even still, Shiva still held onto the bald man's wrist, so his arm was extended upwards towards her. Keeping it one place, she spun around so that she faced the man, holding her free hand up into the air, just in time to catch Zsasz's now-falling knife.

Bringing it down before her face, she paused to examine the blade. "Fine craftsmanship," she admired. "Such a weapon must have seen much bloodshed, yours and your fallen alike. I am curious how many victims it has cut."

Her eyes then focused on Zsasz. "But now it's next victim is you."

She then extended her arm out to her side, holding it at shoulder-height, the tip of the knife pointed forward. With a step forward, she swung the knife, arcing it until she drove it right into the side of Zsasz's head, piercing right through his ear.

There was a choked gasp before blood began to trickle out of the corner of Zsasz's mouth and drip drown from his eyes. He stayed that way, frozen on one knee until Shiva released him, his body falling backwards and landing with a dull thud.

Shiva gazed down upon him for only a moment before she turned her back on him. The sounds of battle had quieted and the moment she looked, she found only two of Bane's men still lived. Ra's assassins stood between them and her, keeping them at bay so that she could toy with Zsasz without interruption. There had been no command given by her to do so, but they had responded as such.

Perfect.

"Men of Bane," she called out to them. "This battle is finished. Go back to your master and tell them what you saw here. Tell him that I am coming and there is no one that may protect him from me."

Then she left, vanishing into the night. Her message would be delivered and Zsasz's body was its physical manifestation. Hopefully Bane had more worthy adversaries under his command, otherwise her foray into Gotham would be but a hollow victory.

* * *

There was something different about the activity in the department and Sawyer figured it had to do with the bridges. At first, they had thought it a planned out strike by Bane, but then the call from the Commissioner had come in.

If there had been any officers that had been gungho about the National Guard showing up, most of it had sunk with the remains of those bridges. Part of the problem was that they were on the wrong side of the bridges; another was that they were trapped among a population of people who were beginning to panic. It wouldn't be long before the looting began as desperate people either sought to grab as much as they could and hole up in their homes with their ill-gotten gains, or tried to find ways to get over the rivers and to the other side to safety.

It would be their jobs to do their best to prevent that from happening. However, another problem was that there were officers who wanted nothing more than to join any and all would-be looters.

This was unprecedented. For Sawyer, even though she had seen some out of this world stuff back in Metropolis, this was something entirely new for her. At least in her old city, there had been a flying man who was able to inspire hope in the people; not so much Gotham. Theirs was gone, taken from them in a very brutal fashion.

Bizarre, though, she could handle. You had to after giant robots, enormous meteors, and that one invasion of toys that no one could ever forget. This, however, was entirely different because the perpetrators were some super criminals, wealthy socialites, or even aliens; this time it was their own military.

It seemed that even they weren't willing to take Bane head on, for whatever reason.

All of which led to all the activity in the precinct. Sawyer was arming herself with as much firepower as she could, having a feeling she was going to need to. Others around her were doing the same, with greater or lesser amounts of calm. There were the officers that were running about, some shouting, others looking like they were about to take off, including a few that looked decked out for war.

Then came Petit.

The man tried shouting over all the noise, which seemed like that was getting him nowhere. Then he had what few SWAT members they had left take up posts at the exits, their guns raised. Petit, meanwhile, pulled out his sidearm and discharged it up at the ceiling.

Never had she seen anyone stop and pull out their weapons as fast as her fellow officers, all of them aiming their guns at the SWAT commander as if they considered him a threat. Petit must have used up all the luck he would ever have in his life because no one had fired on him after such a stupid move.

"Now that I have your attention, I want you all to shut up and listen to me," Petit ordered as he holstered his gun. "We all know what's going on so let's cut to the chase. We're on our own here and there's going to be no help coming for us. That's why we need to stick together."

"Screw you, Bill!" someone cried out.

"You step out of here, you're dead meat, you know that?" Petit hollered back, gesturing towards a far wall. "Do you know what's out there? A lot of people, many of whom don't like us. You can bet your ass that they'll be gunning for us. We need to stick together and do what we need to do. We need to get a grip over the city and make sure that it doesn't fall apart. That's our goddamn jobs."

"Is that what the Commissioner told you?" another officer asked, though it came out more as an accusation.

"The Commissioner is on the wrong side of the river, boys. I'll be the one taking charge here until such time as he returns," the mustached man answered with much more poise than Sawyer expected. "This is not the time to fall apart. We're the last hope, people, not some weirdos in Halloween costumes. We're taking this city back one block at a time if we have to, and the sooner the better. You can bet that it won't take Bane long to try the same."

"Who put you in charge?"

"Dumbass, no one did, but someone has to have the goddamn balls to stand up. Since none of you pansies are doing it, I will," was the thundered response. "And if you think that you're just going to walk out of here and ignore your oaths, my men would like to have a word with you." And now some of these officers were noticing the SWATs blocking the doors.

Having enough of this show, Sawyer stood up and walked her way through the gathering of police officers, emerging at the front where Petit was standing on his metaphorical soap box. "Isn't this too much, Commander?" she demanded.

"Lieutenant, for all intents and purpose, we're on our own. It's going to be a fucking no man's land out there, but I am not going to lose Gotham to anybody who thinks it's theirs for the taking," Petit retorted. "Anybody and everybody will be a threat, and it's our jobs to take care of threats. Let me tell you this: I'm going to finish what Gordon started here and I'm not going to stop until I put a bullet in Bane's fucking head. Who here is with me!"

That last part was shouted for all to hear, and the tone demanded a response from the men and women in uniform. It was a response that he got, many of them yelling out their support for Petit. Yes, there were a few staying quiet, all for one reason or another, but they were in an extreme minority. Petit was starting to rev up the local law enforcement machine, and he was about to take full advantage of the declaration of martial law that the mayor had order not too long ago.

"So what'll it be, Lieutenant?" Though his voice was not as loud as before, she could still hear it over the shouting of the other cops. "Are you with me, or against me?"

Oh, Dan would have a field day with this guy, but Turpin wasn't here, only her. She would need to step up if she was going to survive this mess, and this time no Superman was going to fly in and save the day.

In a way, she kinda like that.

"What do you think? The city's not going to save itself," is what she told Petit who gave her a nod. He would accept that answer for now.

Sawyer, on the other hand, hoped that she was doing the right thing.

* * *

It seemed this night was not yet finished with him. He had only heard the report of the recent strike against him, and based on the details he was told, Ra's al Ghul could be the only person behind it.

The loss of Zsasz did not concern him; it was the message left behind that held his attention.

His first thought, indeed his first action, was to snort. He needed no protection, especially not from someone of Zsasz's caliber. It was an insult to think that he was afraid of any conflict. This agent of al Ghul was taunting him, wanting him to come out and make the fatal mistake that would end him. He was tempted to call this agent out on her challenge and prove to her what she was up against.

That would be a mistake. Only an amateur would be hotheaded enough to go for such an approach. At the same time, that challenge needed to be answered.

There was too much that needed to be done, that needed him to keep his involvement. This was another obstacle interfering with his conquest and only added to his frustration.

Taking in the level of skill of this new player as well, anything less than himself would be futile. Sending more men in would be like throwing them away and his ranks were beginning to thin once more. Losing more was beginning to become unacceptable.

"How do you want to deal with this?" Zombie asked. "Shall I meet with this latest combatant?"

"No. As skillful as you are, underestimating any that the Demon's Fang can field would be an error, one that I can no longer afford," Bane refused.

"So we're just going to let them keep bleeding us dry?" Bird exclaimed, incredulous.

"That is also not an option." Bane was thinking, trying to come up with a new strategy to handle this latest change.

Without warning, an epiphany struck him. Zsasz had been hired help, nothing more. A recruit from Bird's efforts to bring in outside, and local, help. This, by all accounts, woman was new. She did not match the other female he had observed in al Ghul's company, nor did she have a child nearby. Since this was the first reported sighting, she had either been kept back as a precaution, or brought in.

That was what he needed to do.

"We will outsource this," he stated, catching both of his lieutenants off-guard.

"But didn't we do that already? That's what that serial killer was!" Bird protested.

"I do not mean local. I mean professional. People with equal, or greater skill who are not rabid like that killer. I became acquainted with some such individuals during my time as freelance," the masked man explained. "I will put out a contract similar to the one I offered Zsasz, but this time I will accept nothing less than the Demon himself. Get me Cobblepot; a man like him will know how to contact such individuals."

"What about the blockade?" Bird pressed.

"As I told Cobblepot, only the worthy will be paid, and if something as simple as this is capable of stopping them, then I do not need them. For the best, it is not even a minor obstacle; they'll get through and they will carry out my will no matter what expense it will cost.

"Remember, once Tetch completes my machine, it will not matter what their loyalty is. This is but a means to stall and distract. I will not lose Gotham, not to anyone, and especially not now, after all the time and resources I have put into it. We already have our trump card, but we cannot allow anyone to learn about it until after it is too late to stop it."

"Understood," Zombie agreed, nodding his head. The thin man placed a hand on Bird's shoulder, a silent way to convey to the blond American to not press the matter further. They had their battle plan and it was their responsibility to carry it out.

Bane didn't spare the two another look. They had their orders and it was up to him to iron out the details.

To himself, he swore that before it was all over, he would do more than break Ra's al Ghul. No, he would not rest under that man's skull was crushed between his two hands and leave the body for the scavengers to tear apart.

* * *

To Guest: You definitely mentioned her. Her connection was a little off though

To FlackAttack: When she speaks to Ra's upon arriving in Gotham, she does indicate she's met him. What the encounter was like went unmentioned though


	41. Breathe

**I need to breathe  
Before I suffocate  
Before it's all too late  
Before I die this way  
**

 **I need to breathe  
Before I slip away  
While there's something left to say  
Can you help me?**

 **I need to breathe**

 **-Breathe by Through Fire**

* * *

Him. The Batman.

No way in hell.

Nightwing sat on the bench, hunched over, his hand running through his hair as the strands entangled between his fingers. It was crazy, insane, preposterous. As much as he had felt he was doing a better job at times than the Dark Knight, he was certain of his of his place in the pecking order. He was not the top dog and had no desire to be that dog.

And yet, the thought wouldn't leave his mind. It was true, they needed Batman back, regardless of whether it was _The_ Batman or _A_ Batman. There was a scramble amongst the Dark Knight's greatest enemies for the cowl, something he nor the rest of the Network had considered attempting. Why hadn't they until now?

It was an emotional thing to be sure. He was certain of that much. Each one of them had been affected by the vigilante in some form or fashion. Barbara had been rescued by him, Tim followed his example, and perhaps the same could be said of himself. Though the Birds hadn't said why they were in the fight, he imagined they were inspired by the man in some form or fashion.

Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure what got Stephanie or Harper into this business.

"You doing okay?"

Dick didn't bother raising his head up as he continued to look down at his feet. He didn't need to bother either since he knew whose voice it was. "No, I'm not," he replied bluntly.

"You want to tell me about it?" Tim asked as he came to sit next to the older man, placing his hands on either side of himself on the bench. That was all he had to say because they both knew Dick would be spilling out eventually. While he was a more private person than the others, he did open up with the right people and Tim was one of those people.

"I can't be Batman," he said after awhile, dropping his hand from his hair. "I can't be, I just can't. It's...it's...sacrilegious."

"I know what you mean," the younger man agreed. "It's like there can only be one Batman."

"And he's gone. That's it." Dick finally looked to his friend, seeing the youth looking towards the ceiling.

"And I'm sure you've recognized Manhunter's point though," Tim pointed out. "That everyone else had been putting on that cowl. They recognize the power it holds. And I can see where she's coming from, what with using it too. It's probably because she wasn't raised here and knows just what it means to us locals."

"Maybe," he grunted his agreement. It still didn't take that sick feeling from his stomach, the same feeling he had since it was suggested he be the one to take up the mantle. Just the thought cause his stomach to churn uncomfortably.

"I gotta say though, it's better you than me," Tim admitted. "I really can't be offended because Canary's right, I don't fit the suit all that well."

"Thanks," Dick grumbled. "Are you saying I do?"

"Better than others. You were always the best fighter in the Batclan. I also know you're smarter than you give yourself credit for. You always let me and Barbara handle the thinking because, I don't know, you wanted us to feel like we were contributing."

"That's not true," he quickly interjected.

"Let me finish," Tim was quick to rebuke. "This is just what I thought at the beginning. You were the best equipped one to live this life out of all three of us. I was a snot-nosed kid trying to act more mature than I was—"

"And you still do." Dick offered a smirk at the youth, who gave him a scowl in return.

"Ass. And Barbara was doing this because she was starstruck by Batman and probably not the best suited for all the fighting we did. I know I relied on you to do the heavy lifting. Then Barbara turned out to be a computer genius so she took over that aspect of our operation. And still, you were our powerhouse. So when it comes to fighting, yeah, you have that down pat. Now that you have a whole new Batclan with you, I can imagine you're taking over more of the team's operations—the investigating, the strategy, all of it."

That was a good point. He told Harper and Stephanie where he wanted them and how to strike and they followed his orders to the letter. It wasn't until Jason had joined the group when he had to spell out his rationale.

"So believe it or not, in my eyes, you earned the consideration."

As flattering as that was, Dick knew deep down this wasn't right. There was a much larger issue at the heart of this than what was being said. "As long as we're considering a Batman replacement, then we're just going to keep making the same mistakes," he said after awhile.

This caused Tim to frown. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, we're still relying on Batman. He was just one man, albeit one hell of one to shoulder on the burden that he did for so long. He made that symbol on his chest mean something to this city. What about the rest of us? No one is afraid to see Nightwing, or Red Robin, or Huntress. They're freezing because they're expecting to see the Bat looming over their shoulder.

"Everything he did benefited us all. When the Talon Attacks happened, he had figured it out just before the assassinations happened. He stole that shipment of Crane's fear toxin out of my storage unit without us being any the wiser. He discovered Hugo Strange behind the Man-Bat attacks. We only found out about it after the fact."

"I guess you're right about that," the younger vigilante agreed hesitantly, probably unsure where his older counterpart was going.

Dick wasn't going to let him wonder for too long. "We've been riding his coattails this entire time. We haven't earned a shred of credibility with this city and now's the time to change that. We need to show Gotham, Bane, Ra's al Ghul—everyone—that we're to be taken serious. It's time for people to recognize us as Batman's heirs and hoping to see Black Canary, or Katana, or even Bluebird when they're in trouble."

Yeah, that was it. Nightwing could feel his resolve strengthening with every word he spoke. If they were to make the Network work, if they were going to save this city, they needed to show it, to prove themselves worthy. Their collective B-team and C-team levels were earned because they didn't strive to be A's.

That needed to change starting now.

"That's a nice speech and all," Red Robin was saying, pulling him out of his thoughts. "But how do you plan on doing that?"

Nightwing stood up grabbing the wrist of one of his arms with the hand of the other, pulling on the glove so that he could feel it tightening on his fingers as he began to flex them. "Barbara has to have found a hideout for Bane by now. Because we've been tiptoeing around him, she wouldn't have bother telling us. Now though, we strike. We show Bane that we're not going to be taking his hostile takeover lying down."

"You're sure about this?"

"Absolutely. Batman had to start from somewhere when he started. It's time the Network started too. We're going on the offensive."

* * *

Even with the bridges blown, the city still had electricity and telecommunications. It was the big reason why Barbara still had access to the internet and was able to continue being Oracle. It was also the reason why her phone was still able to ring, the caller ID revealing who was on the other end.

The call couldn't have come at a better time. She had just gotten off with Nightwing, who had spoken with a renewed sense of purpose. She hadn't expected that. She expected sadness, devastation, depression—take your pick—but not this urgency.

And despite that, this was one call that she wasn't about to refuse.

" _Are you sure you're alright?_ " her father demanded. The man was between desperate and frantic, and she was able to hear the relief in his voice the second after she had confirmed that yes, she was okay, just a little shaken up. And like a good daughter, she had asked what was going on. " _I need you to stay where you are, Barbara. The bridges...well, they're down. No one can get across right now. I'm going to see if I can get a ferry, or something started, and as soon as I call you, I want you on the move, alright?_ "

"Dad, what's going on? What happened to the bridges?" she questioned. Based on his tone, her father knew something. Whatever it was, she had yet to find it on the net with the exception of video after video being uploaded—and goddamn it people, would you stop holding the damn phone vertically?

" _I need to know if you're safe, if you can keep yourself safe,_ " her father pressed. " _Do you have that gun I gave you?_ "

"Dad, please, tell me. Tell me what's happening. I need to know what's going on," she pleaded.

" _It's...it's complicated._ " Oh, she also knew that tone. It was the one he used when he was trying to spare her from knowing about something bad. He was trying to protect her still, but if he was asking whether or not she had that gun he had given her for "home protection," yes, she did, but it was in the case it had come with.

"No, Dad, I need to know. I have no idea what's happening and if I'm to protect myself, I need you to tell me what you know. Where are you? Can you come pick me up?" That last one was a throwaway line because she had no intention of going anywhere just yet. The Network still needed her at her desk.

Barbara heard a sigh on the other end. After a heartbeat of silence, " _You don't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you, alright?_ "

If she thought it was bad, those words confirmed it was much worse than bad. Swallowing, she agreed, "Okay."

" _We brought in the National Guard and they're the one's who…_ "

The National Guard blew up the bridges? _Why?_

" _Gotham is being quarantined. They want to go after Bane, but the higher ups decided they wanted to starve him first. I didn't know anything about this until I was on the other side. Right now, it's just you and several million people who are about to lose their minds when they figure this out. That's why I need you to arm yourself and be ready. I'm going to do my best to get you out of there before it gets bad._ "

"I know you will," she said, trying to speak through a rapidly drying throat as everything clicked together. While the National Guard was a military outfit, it was the armed force for the state. They didn't have the authority to blow up those bridges. And if Bane was the target, and knowing about his background, there might be someone higher up, at the federal level, who authorized this. What were the odds that someone with knowledge of Project Gilgamesh was acting to start cleaning up their mess?

Still, the Network needed to know about what was going on and she would keep her speculations to herself. That way she wouldn't overly alarm anyone and once she had the proof, then they could start working on a way to fix this.

But before she started on that, she needed to say something first.

"Daddy? I love you," Barbara spoke, her voice small and betraying some of the fear she felt. This was the man who had seen her at some of her weakest moments, and it would be him that she would show it. The others didn't need to know because for them she needed to be strong. She needed to be Oracle, but not with her daddy.

" _I love you too, Barbara. I'm coming for you, so stay safe._ "

She hoped that out of everything, she could do that at least.

As the call ended, her facial features hardened. So much information, so much happening in the last few weeks. It would take its toll on anybody. The last twenty-four hours had been especially trying. However, this is what she thrived on, these challenges that were followed by more challenges, which were then followed by even more challenges. While her father had every right to be concerned about her, she had her means to keep herself safe.

None of which involved using a gun.

Right now, she needed to get to work trying to figure out who this latest player was and keep the rest of the Network up to date. Right now, they were heading out to strike at one of Bane's many cells in the city, and they were going to need to know what to expect before they got there.

There was going to be no more deaths, no more captures, and no more losses. They were going to start turning this around.

They had no choice but to; at this rate if they didn't, there wasn't going to be a Gotham left to save.

* * *

The building was in one of the rougher neighborhoods, not that you would know it nowadays. The lack of gang activity that used to infest this area was at an all-time low and there was really only one reason for it at this time.

Four stories, brick-and-mortar, built probably a few decades ago, it had been cheap apartment units for a bustling, rapidly growing city. Now it was even cheaper apartments for a slowly dying neighborhood, prime real estate for the criminals that were slowly, but surely, killing what was left of this community. It was now a hideout for Bane's men, if not the man himself.

This was where they were going to send a message, loud and clear, for the entire city to take notice.

Nightwing stood on the street opposite, not bothering to hide in the shadows the neighboring buildings. No, they were going to do this loud and with attitude. There would be no mistaking who was attacking.

Bane would know it was them. He would target them. He would try to kill them.

He would be making a huge mistake.

There was movement behind him, Huntress appearing off his left shoulder as she gazed at the building next to him. "You're sure about this?" she asked, not bothering to tear her eyes away from the building before them. "Oracle has the right place?"

"She has the right place alright," Red Robin spoke confidently as he came to stand on Nightwing's right, his hands on his hips. "She has computer algorithms that triangulated this place out of—"

Huntress immediately held a hand up and spoke to cut him off. "I get it, short stuff. Don't throw your computer lingo at me."

"Is it too much for you to handle, H?" Black Canary asked, somewhere behind the two older vigilantes. If Nightwing were to look, he'd see the rest of the Network along with Green Arrow standing behind him, waiting for the order. Black Canary had Arrow standing next to her as they stood behind Nightwing and Huntress. Katana and Manhunter were out to Huntress' left and behind her, hands lingering close to their preferred weapons. Bluebird and Spoiler were keeping behind Red Robin, though one hovered between the two male vigilantes while the other stood out next to the younger one. They were hungry and ready.

"Only because I have a brain, unlike the wind tunnel you keep under those blond curls of yours," the purple-clad woman retorted.

"Wow, a blonde joke. Very creative."

Huntress shot a glare over her shoulder at Canary, who only returned a smirk in return. "Just keep your trap shut, Blondie, before I tell your boy toy to. I'm sure he'll be happy to do so."

"Hey, don't involve me with this," Arrow responded.

"Game face time, guys," Nightwing said, a gentle reminder to get them back onto their objective. "I want everyone inside now. Do what you have to do short of killing them. I won't blame you for breaking some bones; I certainly know I won't be holding back. The important thing is that we all make it alive."

And with that, he began their march, storming across the street and climbing up the small marble staircase up to the front door. He could hear the constant clatter of footsteps behind him as the others followed. Not bothering to be civilized about it, he put all his weight on one leg as he lifted the other and delivered a kick to the doors, forcing them open.

What he found on the other side stunned him. There was a short hallway on the other side of the doorway and lying on the floor were two, no, three of Bane's men. There was a lack of blood and if he looked closely, there chests were rising, indicating there were clearly unconscious.

What the hell was going on?

Suddenly, there was a crash, dull due to distance, but there was also the distinct sound of someone screaming.

* * *

Angel pressed his back hard against the wall, holding his gun up by his face. Next to him was Raul, breathing hard as he unloaded an empty clip and put in a full one.

There was something in here, something fast. It had been here for God knows how long and it was picking them apart. They were separated from the others right now, looking to regroup, but finding little to none that were actually of use.

Bane would be furious by this breech once he found out about it. No question, if they did not capture, or kill whatever was attacking them, they were all as good as dead.

"Where do you think it is?" Raul whispered lowly.

Angel was about to answer as he turned his head to look at his compatriot. Like him, Raul had his back pressed against the wall so as to minimum where they could be attacked from. However, as soon as the words had left Raul's lips, something burst through the wall right by his head, something long and black. It then clamped down on Raul's head, looking very much like a hand, its fingers practically claws.

Raul screamed as he was pulled backwards, the wall breaking apart as he was forced into it, vanishing from sight as pieces of sheetrock and wood fell to the floor.

Fear raced throughout Angel's body. However, he was not a coward. Shooting away from the wall, he spun on his heels as he turned to face the newly-made hole, putting himself right in front of it. Yelling, he unloaded his machine gun as he fired it into the hole, the flashes of light from the gunfire lighting up the corridor and the room before him.

Seconds passed by until his gun refused to fire anymore. Breathing hard, Angel stared into the void in front of him, hoping...no, he knew he had got whatever was hunting him. Nothing could have—

Suddenly, the floor beneath his feet burst apart, shattering into pieces. Angel screamed as he fell into the darkness below, knowing only pain when he landed and soon after darkness.

* * *

Creeping slowly through the hall, Nightwing held his escrima sticks at the ready. The others had their weapon of choice drawn and were following behind him. Katana and Manhunter were covering their six while Bluebird and Spoiler were kept right in the middle of their group. The rest of the Network surrounded the youngest and inexperienced members as they searched all around them.

The first thing to be noticed was the lack of lighting. A lot of the light fixtures were either not working, or broken, leaving a scant few left to actually light up the place. It had all the look of a horror house.

The doors on either side of the corridor were open, though the few that were closed were deliberately opened by them. Many were found to be empty of people, and sometimes empty of everything. Every so often their would be a random piece of furniture, be it a stool, chair, even a television set lying on its side. However, they found a few more of Bane's men lying unconscious on the floor.

Up ahead, even as Nightwing stepped over one such sleeping merc, he saw another one lying in the doorway, his upper body out in the hall while his legs were in the room. Slowly, he crept towards the man, walking passed him once he was sure he was down for the count.

No one had said a thing since they entered. Everyone was on high alert, so there was no need for unnecessary conversation. They were here for a reason, though now it was a completely different one.

Suddenly, there was a sound of gunfire coupled with screaming. Up ahead!

* * *

Jimenez and Victor crept down the hallway. Their guns were trained in front of them, their eyes searching the corridor before them.

They had been hearing the screams, the crashes, and the gunfire. There was no telling how long it had been going on. They were professionals, so such sounds did not frighten them. It did put them on high alert however, and they were going to get to the source of the commotion.

So far, they had yet to find anything. That was the unnerving part. They searched and searched and searched and there was nothing.

Yet the sounds indicated otherwise.

Something pelted Jimenez's shoulder, causing him to stop. Looking to it, he saw nothing, perhaps some dust, but nothing else. Strange. Looking to Victor, he saw a similar bewildered look. Returning his attention back to his front, that's when he noticed something on the floor.

Kneeling down, he reached down and picked up what looked like a crumb. Holding it between his index finger and thumb, he examined it. It was white and was perhaps the size of a small pebble. It's sides were rough and pointy, but nothing that actually indicated what it was.

Again, strange.

As he moved to dropped the white pebble on the floor, he saw another one land perhaps a few centimeters next to his hand. Frowning, he stared at it before he realized what he had seen. Whatever this white substance was, it had fallen onto the floor. _Fallen._

That's when he heard a cracking sound. Shooting up onto his feet, he looked up to the ceiling and saw a large crack in the sheetrock. Something thin and swirling was emerging from the crack, writhing along the ceiling like a den of snakes. All Jimenez could do was stare at it.

It took him a moment before he realized those writhing snakes looked like wires and cables. A moment after that realization and suddenly the wires and cables stopped their writhing, ends of the wires pointing down towards him and Victor.

Then, without a word, the cables came flying at the two men. Jimenez screamed as even as he raised his gun to fire, only to feel their cold embrace.

* * *

Nightwing froze when he saw it. There was a pile of debris on the floor, one of Bane's men lying on top of it. Above him was a hole in the ceiling, obviously where the debris came from. Quickly, he approached the man and knelt next to him, pressing a couple fingers against his neck to find the carotid artery.

Feeling it beating strongly and steadily beneath his gloved fingers, Nightwing then stood up and regarded the mess. What the hell was going on here? These men were being hunted down and beaten. Throughout the corridors, he had seen the bullet holes in the walls and the shell casing on the floor, indicating the mercs were fighting back. But without any sign of blood, or bodies, it was like they were hitting nothing at all.

Already, Nightwing doubted it was the Demon's Fang. Those guys were all about killing, so unconscious men were not their M.O. The same for the Phantasm and the Joker.

So what did this mean? Was there a new vigilante? Were they the ones responsible for this?

"I don't like this," Huntress said then, her voice low, but one that could be hardly mistaken for a whisper. "I don't like this at all."

"Not to be a wet blanket, but this is looking a lot like a horror movie," Green Arrow added. "And this is usually the part where you're shouting at the screen for the dumb teenagers to turn around and get out."

"That's not necessarily a bad idea," Red Robin agreed.

Nightwing just continued to stare in front of him. The end of the hallway was in sight and from his angle, he thought he could see the start of a staircase at the end. "One more floor won't hurt," he said as he began pushing forward.

"Famous last words," Green Arrow muttered.

* * *

Oscar shoved a new magazine into his gun, pulling back on the bolt to load the bullet chamber. Next to him, Jose did the same.

"Alright, you little vermin, we've got something for ya," Oscar growled as he searched the room he was in. His unit was using the generously sized room as a sitting room, with couches and chairs lining the walls. There had been a coffee table, but it was in a hundred pieces due to Carlos lying dead, or unconscious on it.

Suddenly, something black darted in front of him, keeping low to the ground. Shouting, Oscar began firing his gun at it, even as it continued gliding across the floor, always staying ahead of the bullets.

Suddenly, pain shot up Oscar's hand, causing him to yelp as he dropped his machine gun. Grabbing at his hand, he instinctively bent over as he massaged it. That was when, he felt something hit him on his back, right between his shoulder blades. There was a scream...Jose!

Jerking his head to a side, Jose was lying on the floor, lying there awkwardly. However, there was no sign of the black thing. Oscar jerked his head from side to side, searching for it.

Suddenly, his legs were knocked out from underneath him, and he gave out a cry of surprise. As he fell, something clamped onto his face and he felt himself be forced down faster through the air until the back of his head hit the floor. Pain exploded throughout his skull and merciful darkness took him shortly.

* * *

Now this was freaky.

Nightwing stared up at the ceiling. There was a mess of wires and cords covering it, along with what looked like bulging bundles. Faintly, he could make out the face of a man, wires covering his mouth and some crossing over his face and nose, leaving only a portion of his forehead and left eye visible. The eye was darting from side to side, a muffled sound being made as there were visible wiggling motions.

In fact, there were two men hanging from the ceiling. An occasional arm and leg hung downwards with partial visuals of the terrified men's faces.

For once, Nightwing was stumped. The unconscious men, the damage to the building, he could explain all of that. But two men hanging in a nest of wires? Nope, he had nothing.

"Okay, Nightwing, I think it's time to leave," Red Robin said, not even bothering to keep his voice low. "We've found something that's above our heads."

"I…" the older vigilante began as he lowered his head to look at his friend. It was because of this he caught something out of the corner of his eye. Jerking his head up— _there!_ At the end of the hall, there was movement, something disappearing around a corner.

Immediately, Nightwing took off running down the hallway, much to Red Robin's surprise, not to mention someone calling out, "Hey!" behind him. He ignored it as he reached the corner and spun around it.

There was nothing. Nothing he could find with his eyes. Before he could even feeling the beginning stages of disappointment, he heard a sound. It was very much like the squealing protests of unoiled hinges. In an instant, he was storming down the corridor, searching for the sound until he found it.

As he suspected, it was a door. In this case, it was slowly opening, though there was no sign of who had opened it. Beyond the doorway, there was a set of wooden stairs.

There was another sound then, one of creaking floorboards. Nightwing shot up the stairs, racing up them. He ignored the pounding footsteps of the other vigilantes as they followed, he just kept climbing up and up. He climbed the stairs two at a time, putting a hand to the railing once he reached a landing so that he could steady himself as he spun around to face the next set of stairs and leap up them.

Soon, he reached the top and a lone door indicating there was only one way out left. Lowering his shoulder, he ran right into the door, ramming his shoulder into it. The door gave out immediately, swinging out as the cool night air rushed over him. Racing out onto the rooftop, Nightwing soon skidded to a stop, eyes widening as he swore his heart stopped.

He felt numb. It was so consuming that he barely recognized the rest of the Network barreling through the open roof access, only to do as he had done and come to a stop as well.

There were a series of air condition units off to the left and ahead of the Network vigilantes. On the closest one to them was the crouching form of Batgirl, her head turned towards them as she stared with those blank, black eyes. Her cape poured over her body and off the a/c unit, an inky blackness that stood out even in the night's natural darkness. A breeze blew by them, causing the cape to lift up and dance in the air.

Nightwing's eyes then darted away. Further down the roof and to the right was another person, one in a dress shirt, jacket, and fishnet stockings. A top hat perched atop a head of black hair, which waved whimsically in the same breeze. The woman's weight was placed on one leg as the other was bent at the knee, hands pressed against hips to complete the pose. It took a moment for Nightwing to recognize her, but remember her he did. It was the magician woman from so long ago, Zatanna.

And yet, neither the magician or Batgirl command the amount attention as the figure that stood in the middle. Further back, on top of the ledge of the building was a larger figure, cape billowing softly to his right. Familiar horns stood up from his head as he seemed to regard the sight of the city.

Nightwing could feel his throat close up, keeping him from speaking. Sensing them, the man tilted his head to his left, seeming to look at them from over his shoulder. He stood that way for a moment before he turned to fully face them, managing to stay on top of the ledge without so much as stumbling.

The sight of Batman hit Nightwing with so many emotions, he had no idea how to feel. Joy exploded within him at the sight of the Bat Symbol on his chest. Dread was in his stomach at just the thought of what had been discussed about his heir-apparent early this night. Relief that he was there, standing, was at war with the other feelings and dominating. Doubt was creeping in that this was another fake, another imposter, though. There were more, so much more, but right now he couldn't come up with anymore words to describe them.

"You've all done well," Batman spoke then, his gruff, graveling voice confirming that this was indeed the real deal, the original. "It can't have been easy all of these months. I can't imagine all the sacrifices you've had to make. You've done a commendable job while I've been gone and for that I thank you.

"But now, everything changes. Starting now, we're taking back our city."

* * *

 **End Part II**

* * *

Well, some of you readers called it. Batman is back, but with a truckload of obstacles to face, not only him, but the Network as well. Part III is already being written, entitled _War of the Seven Clans,_ and Anonymous Void and I intend on getting that out to y'all sometime next year.

AV and I would also like to thank everyone that has read, reviewed, and enjoyed this story. It was interesting writing many different POVs without one of them being Batman. I must say I did miss him, however. It was tough juggling the different POVs between the primary characters while making sure the secondary characters also have some screen time. It was a lot like _The Ninth Circle_ in that way.

And this story has reached some milestones as well. _Clash of a Hundred Demons_ is now the longest story by words and chapters of AV and my series, along with the most reviewed of the Batman stories. The latter is all thanks to you readers and reviewers, so thank you again.

AV and I would like to wish everyone Merry Christmas and happy holidays to all.

Until next time,

ShadowMajin


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